On Holiday
by xBroken-Glassx
Summary: When Congress passes a bill to reinstate the draft after a violent attack, everyone is affected by the change. But for Ryan Evans, it hits a little closer to home. Future!Fic. Est. Tryan.
1. Rolling in the Deep

**A/N:** Hey guys! I'm back. Strongly going to advise you right now: _read at your own risk!_ All right, I warned you. Don't say I didn't. Okay, can I just say for the record that i **hate** first chapters. I do. I can't stand them. So that's why, I'm uploading chapters 1 and 2 at the same time. Okay, other than that, I have to say that I wouldn't consider this AU. Technically it could classify but I don't consider something that can be explained logically with previous events laid out to support it AU. Mpreg is AU. This is not. However, I guess it could be alternate reality, which for some reason is completely different.

Can you believe that I'm the first person to bring this topic into the Tryan world on FF? There are a handful of Troyellas and one Troypay that carry the military theme, but this is a Tryan first. Hopefully, someone else will add more with better writing skills than me. Until then, hang on.

Note: The situation is FICTIONAL! The U.S is not drafting, 15,000 soldiers did not die (the real figure atm is about 2,000), Osama bin Laden is dead, Al Qaeda is not gaining strength, etc, etc. However, I did pepper it with a few things that are true (Don't ask, Don't tell being repealed, etc.).

**Pairing:** Tryan (TroyxRyan)

**Rating:** Strong T, light M for language, slash, and adult themes. The M part gets a little heavier as the story progresses.

**Disclaimer/Credits:** I do not own High School Musical. It is a product of Disney. I also don't mean to offend _anyone_ with my story. I'm very thankful for the soldiers that risk their lives, but I don't have an opinion about the current conflict because it's a messy deal. A lot of hatred has sprung up from this issue towards the Islamic community, and that is unfair and not right.

I'm not sure what inspired the plot, so to that I have nothing. However, I thank these authors for inspiring me to write, even though they far exceed my expertise. Check them out!

nek0-sama maxwellattack shounenai4life

Enjoy!

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><p><strong>Chapter One: <strong>Rolling in the Deep

Ryan flipped on the news before strolling into the kitchen to make a quick dinner…or rather, lunch. Ever since seven of the U.S. military bases were blown up, killing over 15,000 soldiers, the fight in Afghanistan only grew more intense and violent. Already intrigued by political and military affairs, Ryan found himself keeping up with the latest news on the issue. It wasn't long before over half of America followed suit, especially after a controversial bill reinstating the draft passed in Congress that October. And when the President signed it, that fate became reality once more.

Already, the lottery for drafting had taken place, snatching every able man in the country at the age of twenty and twenty-one. Apparently it wasn't enough, since the Selective Service System was starting its lottery up again for their next priority: twenty-two year olds. This one was starting to make Ryan nervous, for this was the age group of his class. Granted, he himself didn't have to worry yet, for he was going to turn twenty-three during the year. However, others in the same class year, such as his boyfriend, were in that pool of people turning twenty-two.

Ryan tried not to get too worked up about it though. The military didn't need everyone this time around, for they announced in their decision that they were only going to need a few groups since the war was finally starting to wind down.

So other than surviving the recession, Ryan's focus was on his career on Broadway. So far, he'd managed to get in as one of the backup dancers, although one of the choreographers piqued an interest in him due to his talent and reputation at Juilliard. Ryan knew it'd be a matter of time before he was promoted to a higher role.

Being involved with the Arts (which was amazingly thriving given the conditions of the economy), Ryan's schedule flipped to something unlike most jobs in the United States. Most days he woke up around noon, ate breakfast, exercised, talked to colleagues, practiced his routine for the show, showered, ate a quick lunch (which was normally classified as supper for everyone else), performed, went out with friends and colleagues (and perhaps got something to eat to classify for his third meal), then returned home at roughly three hours after midnight for bed. Of course his daytime hours were tweaked here and there for when they were rehearsing for a show instead of performing, which was basically the only difference in the schedule.

Ryan happily embraced this lifestyle. Troy, on the other hand, wasn't as ecstatic. Like any good boyfriend, Troy proudly supported his partner's profession. It even gave him something to brag about at work. But Troy lived like most people in the country did. He woke up at six o'clock in the morning every weekday, was at work by seven, and done by four. Honestly, he didn't think his work schedule was half bad until he compared his schedule with Ryan's and found they barely got to spend time together. Like less than five hours; three of which were spent sleeping.

Troy never hesitated to voice his complaints, although Ryan was quick to counter his arguments. It wasn't that Ryan disagreed with the fact that they didn't see each other much, it was just something he felt Troy was over-inflating.

"You have weekends off though," he'd reason. "You get to see me then."

"Not much…" he'd huff back.

Despite their quarrelings though, their relationship was pretty good. They were dedicated to each other, still treating one another like first lovers. The simplest compliments made the other blush and little gifts were handled as enthusiastically as they were when they first started dating. The innocence of their relationship, though, was easily matched by their adeptness in intimacy. But even then, they still handled each other with tenderness and care.

For the time being, however, Ryan Evans found himself preoccupied with making himself a mean PB&J sandwich before heading off to the glorious theater.

"How old are you again?" Troy asked, coming into the kitchen in search for a decent dinner; which most likely would resolve in sticking a frozen pizza in the oven.

"What can I say? I'm a child at heart," Ryan replied with a smirk. Troy found his lips twitching for a smile, finding the fair-haired boy absolutely adorable even when he was being an idiot.

"You have the whole day to plan out a meal, and you choose a sandwich," he clarified.

"Pretty much," he answered, licking the last of the peanut butter on his knife. Troy shook his head.

"What do you even _do _all day?" He asked rhetorically. "Because you obviously don't think about cooking. Or cleaning for that matter."

"Oh come on, Troy, we've talked about this," he said. "Can we not discuss my lack of expertise in both those subjects? Besides, I'm perfectly organized."

"Organized, but not clean," he emphasized. "I mean, really. Yesterday, I tripped over your clothes that you left out on the floor. Again!" Ryan snorted, trying hard not to laugh. "It's not funny!"

He turned to him, smiling. "It's a little funny." Troy pouted humorously before attacking Ryan in a hug, nearly rocking him off his feet. He then kissed his cheek, as if to reconcile his actions but continued to hold him, resting his chin on Ryan's slender shoulder.

"My point is," he murmured softly. "We should both be helping out around the apartment. Even if it means doing stupid tasks like vacuuming."

"Hey, if it bothers you that much, go knock yourself out and sanitize the whole damn place," Ryan replied. "But personally, I don't like the aspect of cleaning. That's why my family hired maids. And I wouldn't mind hiring one to solve our cleaning problems."

"That's a bad idea," Troy argued. "All that it's going to do is get us robbed."

"Not if we give them good benefits," Ryan countered. "And in this recession, anybody would be happy to have a job." The brunette sighed, leaving the dispute at that. It was no use fighting about it when Ryan remained so perverse about it. Normally, he loved that quality about him; but it really seemed to bite when it was used against him.

"So…when do you have to go?" He asked, his eyes moving towards the clock.

"Oh, so you're _trying_ to get rid of me," Ryan teased before following his gaze to the timepiece as well. "About fifteen minutes."

"Hmm," he remarked, thinking it over as he kissed the soft skin of his neck, saying suggestively, "Fifteen minutes…nothing to do…" Ryan laughed.

"Sweetheart, subtly is not your strength," he told him, breaking away from his embrace and taking his sandwich back out towards the TV where the lottery dates and numbers were being called out. It was probably the fifth or sixth time the show was being broadcasted, but with the amount of time Ryan spent out and about, it felt like only the first. "Besides, we should be listening to this. It's kind of important."

"News shmews," Troy grumbled, leaning against the wall that stood to show where the kitchen began and the living room ended. He never liked the news. It was too boring to him. He didn't really give a shit who shot who or which politician got caught sleeping around again or which soldier died yesterday, it wasn't his damn business. He always hated listening to it as a kid and he hated hearing it now. "They're all a bunch of smucks." Ryan rolled his eyes.

"Fine, go live in a cave," he shot back. "But when the world ends, you'll be the only idiot who doesn't know." Troy shook his head, not that Ryan could see since he was too absorbed with the screen. He mentally noted that he didn't exactly fancy this hobby of Ryan's either. Perhaps because watching the news was something his parents always did or it made them seem old or because it really was that terribly boring. Any reason to hate those snobby, perfect-looking, anchormen who only dealt out bad news was good enough for him.

"January fifteenth with sequence number twelve, August second with sequence number sixteen, May thirtieth with sequence number fifty-two, October eightee – "

"When was the last time we had sex anyways," Troy asked, already bored with the number readings.

"My god, Troy, I'm trying to eat," his partner complained.

"Well, I'm just wondering," he insisted. "No need to fuss." He walked over to sit next to him on the couch, although he refused to listen to more dates get rattled off. "It just seems like we never do it anymore," he commented quietly. Ryan looked over at him, hating the puppy pout Troy was using to get what he wanted. The worse part was that Ryan fell for it every single time.

He sighed, defeated. "Two months."

"What?"

"The last time we slept together," he explained. "Now quit giving me that look."

"What look?" He asked with a bemused smile.

"You know exactly what I'm talking about," he said, staring ahead while his leg bumped Troy's playfully. "You putz."

"Yet you love me for it," he claimed. Ryan laughed.

"Yes I do," he agreed, finishing the last of the PB&J before standing up. He turned to Troy, his expression slightly saddened. "But I should probably get going." Troy made a face.

"Already?"

"Yeah," he answered as he walked off and disappeared into their bathroom to brush his teeth. "It's not like you're going to let me watch T.V. anyway."

"It's for your own good," Troy said to himself before calling out, "hey Ry, do you think you could come home at a decent hour tonight?" The blonde poked his head out from the doorway.

"Like what?" He asked, taking his toothbrush out of his mouth.

"Before three would be nice," he said, standing up from the sofa and straightening out his pants. "Because every time you come home late, it keeps me up and I can't get back to sleep again. Plus I have a meeting tomorrow and I actually have to be awake for it." Ryan nodded as he turned back towards the bathroom to spit.

"I'll try," he promised. Troy met him halfway to the door. "See you later." He brushed his cheek with his thumb affectionately before kissing him tenderly.

"Love you," Troy said softly as Ryan passed him.

"Love you too," he called back as he headed out the door.

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><p>Ryan crept as quietly as he could to his bed. He might've slightly forgotten Troy's request to come home earlier; instead spending his time with a few of the other dancers at one of the bars and sharing a drink or two. By the time Ryan found a taxi to take him home, it was well past three and Troy's words were neglected. It wasn't until he was halfway home did he realize his mistake, moaning in slight frustration at his forgetfulness and devising a plan to be as discreet as possible.<p>

Anyone who has ever tried to sneak in somewhere when it's dead silent knew that every sound one could possibly make seemed amplified by ten. Which was where Ryan found himself as he tried as slowly as possibly to slip into bed undetected.

Every step seemed to creak with his weight, which Ryan cussed mentally because the floors had been repaired so they _wouldn't_ make those irritating squeaks. Either that, or he was gaining weight, which wasn't good. Then there was his breathing that felt abnormally heavier and therefore louder. And on top of that, his heart was beating so loud and quickly that he was surprised Troy hadn't caught him already.

He fumbled in the dark to find his night-clothes which consisted of pajama pants and a T-shirt. However, he decided that if he could at least find the pants, he'd be willing to go without the shirt. Fortunately, he found both – or at least something that felt like them – and carefully discarded his clothes to put these ones on. He glanced towards Troy's sleeping form, relieved to find him unmoving.

He advanced towards his side of the bed, still trying to remain silent. The closer he got though, the more paranoid he was that Troy would wake up. He was nearly at his bedside when he stubbed his toe on the edge of his nightstand. He almost lost all of his composure to remain quiet as his mind yelped what he desperately wished to say aloud: _fuck, fuck, fuck!_ Dammit, he hated when that happened. It was something so simple to hurt himself on and yet it hurt like he got shot or something.

As the pain began to ebb away, he finally made it to the bed. Having finished his mission impossible for the night, he finally let himself relax and catch his breath as he settled into the warmth of the blankets.

"Ry, it's 3:47," Troy announced hollowly. Ryan released a sigh of defeat. All that hard work and he still failed. How was that even possible?

"I know," he murmured, dreading the outcome of their conversation. "I'm sorry."

"It's all right," he said tiredly, turning to face him in the dark. "I found it slightly amusing that you tried to get past me unnoticed. Especially since you're pathetically useless in the dark." He then chuckled to himself.

"Thanks," Ryan said sarcastically.

"Oh, come on, I'm just messing with you," he reasoned light-heartedly. "But seriously, next time, you're sleeping on the couch. No ifs, ands, buts, or whats about it. I need to sleep too, you know." Ryan moved himself closer to him, kissing his cheek. "What are you doing? Trying to woo me over!" He trailed a kiss to his jaw line.

"I thought you were complaining about our sex life," he whispered with ease as he nestled into the crook of Troy's neck, wrapping an arm around his waist like he was a life-sized comfort toy. The athlete could only shake his head and flex his jaw, unable to object to that.

"But I have work in the morning," he said dully. "And I'd like to get a little more sleep."

"Suit yourself," Ryan said through closed eyes. "But don't say I never tried."

Troy lay back in bed, staring at the ceiling while waiting for his mind to shut down and let him sleep. Whirlpools of thoughts circulated his brain, some of them clearer than others as he began to head towards that fuzzy state of being awake but asleep. Drifting, he had to admit: their relationship wasn't perfect. They bickered about the stupidest things and neither one of them cared to cook, and yet he wouldn't trade what he had for anything in the world. As long as he got to hold Ryan in his arms at the end of each day, the rest didn't matter.


	2. It's Not My Time

**A/N: **I'm still trying to figure out all the odds and ends of this site since I still feel like a newbie. Ah well. Anyway, I will be writing a ton. See, I get to be stuck in a car for seven hours everyday because my dad decided driving cross country is better than taking a plane for going on vacation. However, because we're moving around a lot, I won't have much Internet access. So I am writing, you just won't know. Also, if you want me to read something, ask! I have tons of time right now. And to those authors whose stories I am currently reading, update! Soon!

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><p><strong>Chapter Two:<strong> It's Not My Time

Troy came home the following day completely flustered, his clothes even distinguishing his mood in the way the wind whipped them on his way from the subway system. His face was determined and set, unable to let anything go wayward to what he wanted. With his temper being uncontrollable like this, he was definitely a force to be reckoned with. If someone even dared to look at him funny in this state, it'd be the last thing they'd ever do.

Before he could open his mouth to voice the issue that was making him tick in a way he'd never felt prior to that day, Ryan rushed to meet him, his face glowing with complete enthusiasm. Transfixed by his boyfriend's glee, all the words left his mouth while the boiling frenzy of his emotions vanished. Leave it to Ryan to be his rock in the storm. Even if he wasn't entirely aware of it.

"Troy, guess what," he said excitedly, none of Troy's turmoil from work even registering in his brain. He didn't wait for his response either. "I actually cooked! Can you believe it? I mean, normally I wouldn't even bother because it's a pain to try to make something unless it's a dessert because well – a dessert is a dessert. But I went out to coffee with Neil today, and he gave me a bunch of cool different recipes that are fairly easy. His partner – David, you know – is a professional chef, so he was loaded with tips. And you know what the best part is? It's not even half bad! You'll have to try it! But do it before I leave because I want to see your reaction."

Ryan turned to head back to the kitchen, assuming Troy was following suit. Instead, he remained motionless by the door, tugging at the knot of his tie. He didn't want to ruin Ryan's mood, but his news was slightly more important.

"Ryan, we have to talk," he said, his voice leaden. Finally taking notice in Troy's sullen attitude, the Broadway actor looked back at him, his joyous expression quickly fading.

"Yeah, okay," he agreed, his voice soft, slow, and soothing; which was exactly what the brunette needed to hear. "What's up, Troy?"

His boyfriend's gaze couldn't match his for the longest while as he tried to sort out how he wanted to phrase this. It was hurting him though as he knew he was going to fracture their relationship. Or at least put it to the test. Either way it wasn't good, and a burning emotion wasn't going to allow it to destroy their relationship all together. Never.

"I got this in the mail today," he explained, his eyes fixing onto his; blue on blue. He took out a piece of paper from his pocket and held it up high for Ryan to see.

The theater boy looked at it for a while, trying to figure out its significance. He was just far enough away that he couldn't make out any of the words on it, but it looked like an official document of some sort. Then it slowly began to dawn on him: an induction notice. A draft slip.

"Oh no," he breathed, the fear he had tried so hard to talk himself out of for the last few days suddenly standing there in full blown actuality. The fifty groups that were chosen to be inducted out of three hundred sixty-five possibilities, and Troy was placed into one of the minority groups that would be leaving halfway around the world into some god-forsaken desert? Ryan's impulse was to throw a fit. He wanted to knock over everything that remained standing, as if those insignificant inanimate objects were humiliating him in the fact that they could remain unfazed by this information while he was simply tormented. It wasn't fair! None of it was.

But, he had to be the adult here; he quickly chided himself. It would do neither one of them any good if they both threw a fit. The best he could do was make sure Troy had him for support, someone to lean on. After all, it wasn't Ryan who had to leave.

"Did you try to file a claim for exemption?" He asked softly, his brain trying to connect some cognitive thoughts together to see if there was any way Troy could avoid the fate that was printed in black and white. "A postponement maybe?"

Troy shook his head. "C'mon Ry, you've watched the news," he pressed. "You know they barely made evaluations for this draft because they deemed it an 'emergency' situation. So therefore they didn't go through the proper steps of drafting like they should've."

"Well, did you try going to the Military Entrance Proc –"

"Of course I did! I took off work early so I could see if there was any way out of this," he said in his defense. "And you know what they told me? They basically said that if I wasn't handicapped, then I was going. I couldn't even disgust them into exempting me by telling them I was gay since they repealed 'Don't ask, Don't tell'! The one time that would've been helpful…"

"Troy, calm down," Ryan tried appeasing him.

"_You_ calm down," he shot back as he headed towards the kitchen.

"What are you doing?" He asked as he followed him in. Troy grabbed the matches from a cupboard and lit one on the box.

"They can't tell me how to live my life, Ry," he answered. "I'm burning it." He brought the piece of paper to the flame. Ryan grabbed the induction notice before it could be damaged. He knew he didn't exactly like these new conditions, but he still had to do the right thing. Even if it meant making sure Troy did what was expected of him. "What are you doing!"

"I can't let you burn this," he reasoned. "You could go to jail."

"Jail's better than death," he retorted. Ryan winced "Now give me the paper."

"Look, Troy, I don't like this any more than you do," he tried explaining. "But we'll get through this. The war's almost over anyways. I mean, everyday I hear reports of it getting better. That we're 'winning' per se. Perhaps they won't even need you that long and you'll be with me again soon." He scrambled to find his arguments, plucking pieces of information he'd collected over time.

Troy extinguished the match, shaking his head and lifting his hands in forfeit. He didn't want to deal with this. Even further, he needed time to cope because right now, he was too stressed, too hot-wired to handle his current situation civilly. Part of it was also from the shock that still hadn't left him, like he wasn't aware of the extremity of his circumstances. Plus he didn't think he was being fair to Ryan who was only seeking to help him.

"I know," he replied. "I just…I just need to be by myself for a little bit, that's all." He knew he wasn't mad at Ryan as he walked out of the room. He wasn't even that mad at the government or the military for giving him the induction notice. In any other situation, he would've sucked it up and went to the Military Entrance Processing Station for Induction the day after receiving his notice. But he and Ryan were just beginning to settle. Sure, they were young college graduates with immeasurable amount of potential, but every night when Ryan would lay next to him, he knew their relationship wasn't just another relationship. It was growing into something more, if that was even humanly possible. So no, he wasn't mad at anybody. He was mad at the aspect of something taking him away from Ryan.

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><p>Ryan took off work for the next few days, apologizing relentlessly on the phone as he paced in his living room. Luckily, his fellow colleagues were very sympathetic to the situation and assured him that someone would fill his role for the time being. Ryan couldn't be more thankful, especially since he was calling fifteen minutes before he was supposed to be there.<p>

He had decided it was best that he took the time off since he had exactly ten days with Troy before his partner was due to show up for the military and get shipped off to basic training. It was a scary thought. Ten days. And he had no idea when he'd see him again after that.

After thanking them once again, he hung up, unsure what to do next. Troy had disappeared into their bedroom and hadn't come out for a while now. Ryan knew that Troy liked having his personal space, even if it was just to sort things out. So he found it best to let him cope.

However, that still didn't solve Ryan's problem. He was so used to running from place to place that it felt weird to be doing nothing. He stood there a moment, trying to figure out something before deciding to return to the kitchen. Finding nothing better to do, he dumped the dinner he'd made into a container to keep as leftovers. He then wiped down the counters, making sure no crumbs remained. After that, his attention turned to the pans that he cooked with and he scrubbed them with soap in the sink, not even bothering to put them in the dishwasher. As he was close to finishing, he realized that he was actually _cleaning_. How odd.

While his hands were busy cleansing the kitchen, his mind drifted to the startling news Troy had brought to his attention. With Troy having his respectable breakdown and Ryan fighting his, he hadn't really gotten the time to digest what this meant. But now, he could dwell on all the aspects of his partner being drafted.

He had no problem admitting to himself that he was scared for him. Sure, he felt heartsick that the dark-haired boy would be leaving him, his presence being erased from his life for who knows how long. But then to add on the thoughts of what Troy would be doing while he was gone worried him even more.

Basic training wasn't going to be too rough. After all, Troy would still be in the country and Ryan wouldn't have to worry about him being killed in the crossfire in some foreign terrain. It's when they'd ship him overseas into Afghanistan that Ryan would sit with his fingers crossed.

He wasn't going to be naïve about it. He knew full well the course of events in that country: bloody and violent. Ever since the attack on the military bases (an affair that largely exceeded the 9/11 attack), there were no restrictions anymore. The U.S. and its allies fought relentlessly with no regard to civilian welfare while the Al Qaeda and its supporters returned the attacks with great vigor. While the media seemed to be portraying that the U.S had the upper-hand, more bodies fell dead each hour. Thousands of soldiers and hundreds of thousands of citizens.

The United Nations were not pleased with the jump in casualties and collateral damage, but there wasn't much they could do. Their efforts to bring officers in to regulate villages and offer necessities to the Afghan people were nearly fruitless.

Ryan's stomach churned in a nauseating way. Reminding himself of all the danger Troy could be faced with was not helping his case at all. It only made him worry more.

However, he reminded himself, the draft that plucked Troy didn't include every guy in the country. The war was actually dwindling down. Perhaps it wasn't as horrible as he thought. Maybe Troy wouldn't even see the battlefield, if they ended soon. He prayed silently that someone would take out the leaders of the opponent in the next few days. Or that someone would destroy all their weapons or destroy the people supplying them. Anything that would, at the very least, postpone Troy's trip. Anything to stall the reality of his boyfriend stepping into a war-torn desert land, only to join the fight.

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><p>It was just past eleven o'clock and Ryan was nowhere near tired. On a normal night, he'd be cleaning up after the show before heading out with friends. Now, he was sitting with his laptop, double-checking the lottery numbers that were posted online. He was slightly hoping there was an error in the system and that Troy's birth date wasn't one of the dates called up. Sure enough, it was printed there: October Eighteenth, 1989 with sequence number two. No matter how many times Ryan refreshed the page, it still reiterated the same information.<p>

He sighed. It was useless. There was nothing he could do to get Troy out of this mess. Absolutely nothing. He felt so incompetent it pained him.

Glancing at the clock, he debated what he should do next. He wasn't really tired, but there was nothing else he could do and he didn't want to leave Troy by himself.

Tucking the laptop on the lower shelf of the coffee table, he moved towards his room, deciding that trying to sleep was better than doing nothing. He shut off the lights and entered the bedroom carefully, trying not to startle Troy.

The lamp by their bedside was still on, casting a warm shadow over the room. Troy just sat on the bed, doing nothing but, perhaps, thinking. Ryan watched him for a moment, able to comprehend what Troy needed without him having to say it. He moved towards the brunette, climbing onto the comforter and coming behind him to wrap his arms around his shoulders, sitting back on his knees. Troy let himself relax against him, using his frame for support.

"Aren't you supposed to be onstage," he asked Ryan softly.

"I took a few days off," he explained. "I want to spend them with you before you go." Troy's expression melted, completely touched by Ryan's sacrifice.

"I'm sorry I got all mad earlier," he apologized. "I was just so upset, and sad, and …messed up. I mean, I don't even care about this stuff. I have no freaking clue what I'm doing! Plus I'm…I'm absolutely terrified of being there." Ryan's grip tightened on him.

"I'm scared too," he whispered, his chin gently resting on his shoulder.

"How can you be so calm about this?" He wondered, turning his head in his direction. Ryan let out a sad sigh of laughter.

"I'm not," he reasoned. "You have no idea how much I want to throw a tantrum and destroy this apartment."

"So why don't you?"

"Because you need me more right now," he answered simply. They were both quiet a moment as they let themselves rest against each other, allowing the silence to fill the space. It was rather peaceful, all things considered. Each boy caught up in his own thoughts, and yet comforted by the other's body.

"You're so good to me," Troy mused. "Even when I'm being an ass." A small smile reached the blonde's lips.

"Trust me, I would've reacted the same way," he replied. "So quit beating yourself up." He leaned forward to peck his cheek, causing Troy to blush immediately.

"I really don't want to go," he said somberly.

"I know," he replied. "But we're going to get through this. Together." Staying positive, however, didn't stop the horrible imaginings that flooded his mind's view. Ryan trembled to his core, cowering into his boyfriend's clothed back, as morbid thoughts displayed Troy being killed in an explosion of fire.


	3. Dream On

**A/N:** Truth is…this was done two weeks ago. But then I got home, and didn't like it so I redid everything. Still not up to how I want it, but I'm sick of editing, so here's what you get. Oh, and the M rating comes in a little heavier here. I'm not sure if it's _that_ bad since I sort of got spooked by rereading the rating conditions on this site and therefore set up a forte of 'keep it clean'. All in all, though, I think I accomplished what I wanted to accomplish with it. Now the test is to see if you guys are cool with it. P.S. Saying 'first time' something or another does in fact suggest it won't be the last, right?

Challenge: Anyone who can guess which Soap Ryan wanted to watch gets a cookie. And if someone wants to go the extra mile and guess the plot line/character story/pairing (whatever you want to call it) will get an honorable mention next chapter. I will take all entries, whether you submit your answer today or in ten years.

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><p><strong>Chapter Three:<strong> Dream On

The first three days of their limited ten carried on with the same usual routine Troy had adjusted himself to. He woke up early in the morning, performed adequately enough at work, and came home. The only exception was that Ryan was there with him at night instead of running off towards the theater. But to Troy, this was a plus.

During those nights, neither one of them could think of something to say to the other. The brunette would often wrap his arms around his partner, the movement acting as some sort of condolence for them both when they were haunted by the upcoming events. A silent pact between them stated that they wouldn't mention anything regarding Troy's induction and for the most part, they remained true to the agreement. Troy would call his family and friends back home in Albuquerque nearly every night to talk about it (as they seemed to be an exception to the invisible rules), but Ryan made sure to avoid it. Although, he couldn't help walking into their bedroom a few times to find his boyfriend's eyes shimmering with welled up tears as he hopelessly tried convincing whoever was on the phone that he'd be all right.

The silent tears always made Ryan's heart ache. He hated watching the man he loved suffer so, but there wasn't much he could do to fix it. He'd hold him at night or kiss him softly in the dark, but nothing could remove the pain hidden in the brunette's eyes.

On the third day, Troy's boss pulled him aside around noon to tell him to take the rest off.

"You should go home and spend time with your family and friends," he told his employee. "They're going to need you. Besides, I don't know if your job will be here when you get back. You're a great worker, Troy, but with the economy being the way it is, your job will probably be taken soon. I wish I could do more for ya, but all I can do is wish you well when you enter the services."

"Thank you, sir," Troy answered, although he felt a bit numb. It was no use getting upset over losing his job, for he was past caring about what happened to him during the remainder of his time in New York.

"So he just fired you?" Ryan questioned when the athlete relayed the story to him that night.

"It wasn't something harsh like that," came the answer. "But that'll give us more time to hang out, right?" It was confirmed when he spent the fourth day with Ryan. Neither one of them could figure out what to do, so they decided to curl up on the couch with infinite bags of popcorn and watch whatever was on television. Their marathon was quickly interrupted when a sluggish lull occurred during the hours of daytime television. Even the overly mellow dramatic shows that used to be so popular were hardly available for viewing, which caused Ryan to grunt in disapproval.

"You'd think there'd be at least _one_ soap on," he remarked bitterly as he scanned through the guide in a vain search for one title in particular.

It wasn't long after that did Troy find a solution to their small crisis via their growing collection of DVDs; most of them musicals and chick-flicks that secretly made Troy choke up (although he'd never admit it to Ryan who was already accusing him of it). But it wasn't until after they'd watched _The Bucket List_ did Ryan become inspired to create a likewise situation for Troy. Granted, he didn't want it to be extremely drastic like in the movie nor did he want to spend the time to write an actual list, but the basic concept of doing things they wouldn't normally do for the hell of it swayed him to do the same. But with their situation, the idea mostly consisted of doing whatever Troy wanted around New York.

Much to the dancer's glee, the following days executed his plans. He dragged Troy around the city, forcing him to choose different activities to participate in. Troy was uncooperative at first, but soon he was the one pulling Ryan around as he thought of different places he wanted to see. From something as simple as eating ice cream in Central Park to visiting the statue on Staten Island, there wasn't much they didn't have access to. And Ryan made sure to fulfill each and every request Troy made.

"You know, this reminds me of when we first started dating," Troy commented on the sixth day, the June breeze tousling his hair and clothes every so often. He was leaning over the railing of a footbridge, staring out into nowhere while Ryan stayed by his side. "You dragged our asses all around New York, even when it was freaking snowing so hard we couldn't see." He chuckled contentedly, caught up in the mix of memories. The reminder of the past warmed Ryan's heart slightly as he too reminisced the events of their former encounters.

That was the first time he completely forgot about Troy's current situation.

* * *

><p>"S-o…waduyu wanna do now," Ryan asked, even though it was two in the morning and there wasn't much they could do. He wore a lopsided smile as Troy returned the drunken grin. Troy brought the bottle to his lips and took a long sip before replying,<p>

"I donnu," and then let out a small laugh. "Why don't you decide?" He then threw back his head in a disoriented fashion.

" 'Cuz I say so," Ryan insisted, his voice rising some. "C'mon Troy! Anyding you want!" Troy took another swig of the liquor as he contemplated it.

"Anythin' I want?" He repeated. His partner tried to nod but ended up dizzying himself. Troy sat back into the pillows a moment before turning on his side to face Ryan. "Fine," he allowed. "I wanna marry you."

The blonde broke out in laughter at its absurdity. Troy smiled, but didn't find it as funny.

"How drunk are you?" He exclaimed, coming into closer proximity and studying his face a moment. "My god, your eyes are _really_ blue…like…almost hypa…hypa, hypnotic." Troy shook his head at him, almost seeming sober.

"I'm serious, Ry," he reasoned. "We should get married. I mean, we live together, we sleep together, we do everything, so don't you think we should make it offi-sh-all?" He started to slur again towards the end though, revealing his intoxication. "Besides, I wanna get rid of these rid-culous promise rings – wedding rings are nicer y'know." At the mention of them, Ryan cast a cloudy gaze to the band on his finger. They were kinky little gifts they'd given each other to mark their first year anniversary. And despite how sappy and trite they were, he cherished it more than most stuff he owned.

"And where would we get married," Ryan asked skeptically, still finding humor in the matter. "In a church?" He then shifted in the sheets so he could tip the bottle in his direction for a drop or two.

"Sh-ure," Troy answered. "With your money and my good looks, I know they'll let us in." Ryan gave him a dazed smile.

"That'll work," he said, but then he tried to get serious. "But I can't marry you. I know how I want my weddin' to be and isnot happenin' in three days, sorry. 'Sides, you need to learn how to propose better." He then broke out in a smile. "Want more to drink?" Troy reflected his smile a moment, almost moving to kiss him when he stopped. He then sat upright in their bed.

"You're saying no?" He asked, bewildered.

"Yup."

"Yup?"

"Nope."

"Well, which is it?"

"I'm not marrying you," Ryan clarified.

" 'Cuz I can't pa-prose," he added. "Well, waduyu 'spect? For me to get down on my knees and say how cute you are or somethin' that took forever to rehearse and give ya an expensive ring? That is _so_ clichéd." Ryan laughed.

"That's 'xactly how I wanna be proposed to," he answered. Troy let out an airy chuckle of his own as he brought the bottle to his lips once again.

"You read too many Harlequins," he concluded.

* * *

><p>There was a shift in the air when the last day showed its face. The world, in Ryan's eyes, turned a shade darker as the realization slowly struck him. He'd convinced himself to be ignorant during their last days, making sure he didn't track which one was which. But when he opened his eyes to the morning of their last, something caught his eye that confirmed what he knew to be true in the depths of his heart. It was a suitcase. Packed.<p>

For a moment, he'd stopped breathing. Troy, who had been sleeping heavily on his shoulder, stirred slightly from the change in the rhythmic breathing and gazed sleepily up at him. Noticing his attention elsewhere, he followed it until he found the familiar bag. He looked back towards Ryan's face, noticing how his brows came together in sorrow and his mouth poised to refrain from trembling. He reached to cup his face, his mouth opening to explain when Ryan turned back to him, pushing away all of his emotions.

"Do you want breakfast?" He asked mechanically, much to Troy's surprise. The blonde slipped out of his boyfriend's embrace to perform the morning routine, leaving Troy speechless. Recovering from his lapse, Troy called after him but to no avail.

The rest of the day seemed to follow suit: Ryan kept up a façade that he was all right, and Troy didn't believe it. For a while, he'd ask if he was okay or wanted to talk, but Ryan was determined to prove his point.

By the end of the night though, it seemed that even the Drama King (or rather Queen respectively) tired of his own game. He pecked Troy's cheek, muttering something about needing to get to bed early before vanishing into their room. He didn't come out after that, which left Troy conflicted on whether he was moping around in there or actually sleeping. With the silence though, he was more convinced of the latter.

Troy didn't stay up too long. He watched a few of the late night shows and snacked on a few caramel candies he found in the kitchen, but that was it. He did a once over around the apartment – a task Ryan normally attended to – and switched off the lights before entering their room himself.

He felt his heart ache as he found Ryan still awake with his knees drawn up to his chest and his hand cupped over his mouth as he sobbed quietly. Seeing Troy in the doorway, he didn't even try to hide it. Instead, he just turned back towards the window and let the tears fall.

Troy sat on the bed, his eyes tracing the tears that fell from his eyes and ran mutely down his cheeks. If there was one thing he hated more than being drafted, he decided it would be watching Ryan cry for him.

"You're not the prettiest when you cry," he noted out loud, placing his hand on top of the one that wasn't muffling his weeping. Ryan met his gaze, a broken smile lighting his lips.

"I know," he answered, the words barely holding a sound. Troy moved his knees over a bit so he could get closer to him.

"On TV they always make people look so beautiful when they cry," he continued. "But it's so unrealistic that you can tell when they put the drops in." He leaned over and kissed him just above the brow. Ryan was starting to calm down though, for his harsh breaths were turning into sniffling hiccups.

"I don't want you to go," the blonde stated almost silently, barely able to meet his gaze as he wiped at his bloodshot eyes. Troy reached for his other hand as well and held them both loosely.

"Then why didn't you let me burn the draft slip," he asked, making sure Ryan didn't avoid his eyes like he'd been doing for most of the day.

"I couldn't let you break the law," he replied. "You wouldn't survive in prison." Troy let out a small chuckle before pushing Ryan to the side a bit so he could sit next to him.

"Ry, I think we should talk about this," he said after a while. "I mean, I bitched and you're crying, but we haven't…we haven't really talked." His boyfriend shook his head.

"I can't." He almost looked ready for another round of tears.

"Hey, come here," Troy said, moving to hold him, pulling him close enough so that he could inhale the remnant of his cologne with each intake. "I love you, you know that right?" Ryan nodded, not trusting his voice to speak.

"So trust me when I say this: I'm going to be all right," he assured him, breaking from their small embrace to take his face between his hands. "You hear me?" Ryan looked at him worriedly but nodded. With that confirmation, Troy kissed him tentatively. He then trailed kisses down his neck and to the collar of his shirt. They were purely platonic, only meant to console the boy whose eyes were still red.

Ryan guided him back to his lips, sliding his tongue into his mouth to French, mixing a weird combination of mint and caramel. Troy returned the intimacy, the action seeming to comfort both of them for the time being. Upon separating, Ryan found his emotions dazed like Koolaid sugar crystals when they met the water. How was it possible for Troy to maintain this addicting spell around him that left Ryan craving more? Even when he was an emotional haphazard with all the stress surrounding his partner's induction, he wanted Troy to sleep with him. Was that even healthy?

Troy caressed his cheek lovingly, erasing the last of the tears Ryan had forgotten about. He pushed a small smile, taking in everything about his partner's appearance to savor for later. Who knew when he'd see him again after tomorrow? He wanted this moment to last.

He kissed him again, a small peck on his lips that led to another. Troy touched his skin delicately as he moved to place his hands on his waist, traveling up and under Ryan's polo, touching his fair skin carefully like it would puncture if he pressed too hard. Ryan felt his face flush at the contact, which his partner laughed at lightly when they released each other again. No matter how many times Ryan was with him, it always felt like a first. Sure they'd grown wiser and more talented through the years of their relationship, but internally Ryan still felt naïve and new.

Troy slipped the polo over his head and discarded it to the floor, where it almost looked like a shadow in the dim lighting. The brunette trailed his tanned fingers over the porcelain skin, outlining his collarbone and a few ribs. He then kissed him underneath his jaw before he moved to the nape of his neck and finally pecked his shoulder.

Ryan felt his skin grow warmer as he reached for Troy's plaid button-up, undoing each clasp diligently. He'd been successful convincing Troy that dress shirts as well as casual clothes like the one he was wearing suited his style, commenting that they fitted him nicely and made him look sexier.

"It makes up for your Justin Bieber hair," he'd added jokingly, despite the fact that he sort of adored Troy's shaggy locks and the way it framed his face.

He'd barely finished with the last button, sort of fumbling with it in the poor lighting, when Troy shrugged the shirt off and tossed it on the floor where it met Ryan's polo. He then removed the wife beater underneath before joining their mouths again, refreshed with the intoxicating taste of Ryan's toothpaste. There was no rush, no insane heat, and no lust. Although the blonde would often argue that all physical interactions were lustful, Troy would say differently. For it wasn't Ryan's body that he wanted – it was to feel connected to the one he loved in the most intimate fashion. He would allow himself to say, however, that Ryan's physique was a plus.

He trailed his lips to his jaw, kissing him where the lymph nodes were located. Ryan wasn't turned on by much, but there was something in that caress that roused him ever so slightly. His moved himself closer into his frame, gripping Troy's shoulders while his eyes laid easily on the brunette's set of well-developed abdominal muscles.

Troy searched for his mouth again, their breathing becoming a bit more laborious as he brought their bodies together, still handling him with the same meticulous precision as before. He then secured Ryan's form in his hands as he finally lowered him into the pillows and sheets, his sinewy body resting lightly on top of Ryan's lean one. The blonde's breathing quickened while his heart pounded rapidly in his chest, only making his face flush in a darker shade. He released a pleasured breath as he felt a tightness in his pants with the pressure of his boyfriend's lower body against his. Skinny jeans were not his favorite in these situations.

The athlete moved down his body, kissing the milky skin until he reached the waistband of Ryan's pants. It was there that he assigned himself the task of removing them, although he soon realized it wasn't the easiest thing to accomplish.

"Damn, I hate these jeans," he commented through his teeth as he tugged at them. Ryan found a little amusement in his struggle, even though he himself had trouble with them most days. Once Troy succeeded in discarding the article of clothing, he did the same for himself.

"Don't forget the socks," Ryan reminded him sweetly. Troy stuck his tongue out at him, causing the other to laugh. Their joke started way back – back when Ryan dominantly topped and Troy was just learning the mechanics of sex since the only prior experience he held were the few blowjobs Gabriella had given him here and there. And to that day, the brunette was still humiliated in the events of the first time they'd been intimate. The sex itself was fine, but Troy had been too caught up in being nervous and wondering if he was doing it right to notice that he still had the white cotton material wrapped around his feet. It took them months before they could do it again due to Ryan breaking out in laughter, continuously reminded of his blunder. And even though it had been a few years since that time, the event was never forgotten.

Troy leaned back on top of him, kissing him again playfully. He'd barely parted from his mouth when Ryan pulled him back, Frenching him a while longer. The brunette reached for the nightstand, fumbling for the lubricant in one of the drawers.

Their breathing felt harsher than before as they craved each other's bodies, each touch holding a sense of longing. Troy lingered on Ryan's lips, displaying a hint of innocence in the touch before letting himself indulge in the pleasure intercourse offered.

Ryan shifted to his stomach as his partner covered himself in lube. He took in a sharp breath as their bodies became one and they slowly found their familiar rhythm. Troy kept a hand on his boyfriend's lower back as a sense of comfort, as well as to keep him relaxed. Ryan clenched the sheets as he felt a combination of effort and pleasure – their gasps and grunts filling the air with each push and withdraw. He bit his lower lip as they moved to each other's satisfaction, feeling the elation only sex could create. It was only in these sedated hours that the fears of tomorrow could, even just for a moment, disappear.

* * *

><p>Ryan was nearly asleep as he lay in Troy's arms, only further soothed by the measured breaths his partner took. Even the lamp they hadn't bothered to shut off contributed to lulling him to sleep since it cast a warm hypnotic glow around the room. And just as he was sure to fall subconscious, Troy nudged him once to make him stir.<p>

"Ry," he called softly, kissing the edge of his forehead.

"Hmm," came the response, his body unmoving, his brain still in a murky phase.

"I want you to keep this for me until I get back, okay," he told him, removing his promise ring and closing Ryan's palm around it. His partner opened his eyes a little as he felt the smooth metal band in his grasp and frowned, slightly confused.

"You don't want it?" He asked, his voice squeaking as his blue eyes flickered up to meet Troy's.

"I don't want anything to happen to it," he answered lightly with a smile. Ryan blinked, trying to figure out what he meant by that. He then shook his head to object.

"I can't take this," he insisted. "You wear it." He then tried putting it back in Troy's hands.

"But I want you to have it," he reasoned, pushing away his attempts. "Just in case…"

"Just in case what?" He interjected bitterly, although he didn't really want to know the answer.

"In case I don't make it back."

Ryan's jaw tightened as he felt the tears return. _No_, he protested mentally. How could Troy bring this up again? Especially since he'd just started to forget about it.

"Don't talk like that," he reprimanded. "You _will_ come back to me. You even said so yourself."

"Come on, Ry," he urged. "We have to at least consider the possibility. I know we've been avoiding the subject all week, but we can't talk around it anymore. If I never come home again, then I want to talk about it while I can. Especially now, since I'm here for you." Ryan held his breath, trying everything in his power to avoid crying again. The thought of his boyfriend dying scared him, but when Troy brought it up, it made it seem even worse. Like, now that the fear was mentioned out loud, the courses of fate were being twisted to make sure it happened. And it terrified him.

"You're not going to die," he tried assuring them both futilely.

"I can't exactly promise that," he replied softly, his face saddened by that fact. Even though he was trying to console Ryan on the issue, he couldn't deny that dying scared him too.

"Promise me anyway."

Troy closed his eyes a moment, sighing. He hated obligating himself to a task where he wasn't confident in the outcome. But seeing how miserable he was, he couldn't help it.

"I promise," he finally answered, making sure Ryan watched as he slipped his ring back on.


	4. Airplanes

**A/N:** Uber short chapter. Barely a thousand words, no lie. However, it will be excessively made up for in the next chapter so I guess you all have to deal with it.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Four:<strong> Airplanes

"How is it that our roles got reversed, huh?" Ryan asked lightly as he poured them both a cup of coffee, a final act of normality before they plunged into their new fate. He turned to hand him his mug. "Suddenly, you're the calm one." He raised a blonde brow at him, causing the other to smile.

"I tend to blow up about things before I think about them," he reasoned simply. "You, on the other hand, do the opposite. It takes a while to make you crack. But when you do…" he whistled lowly, almost saying it with a bit of humor. It didn't last though, for his face grew serious again. "You can stand real tall, babe, but that also means you crash twice as hard." Ryan made a face, even though he knew it was true.

"Hey," Troy continued. "The important thing is that you get yourself back up again. I mean, remember that dance professor you had at Juilliard?"

"Oh god, don't bring that up!" He insisted as he sat down across from him.

"Come on, what'd he tell you?"

Ryan shook his head in disbelief, but complied.

"He told me my dancing was so 'stiff and incompetent that it resembles a two-year-old's muscle spasms'." He sighed as he remembered his own devastation at that critique. He'd nearly convinced himself never to dance again. Especially since he'd tried so hard on that particular routine.

"Yeah, now look at you," Troy pointed out. "You dance for Broadway. It took a bit to get you back on your feet, but you did it." He then offered his Golden Boy smile which made Ryan feel a bit better. Even though Troy would leave in a matter of hours, it seemed they were handling it better than before. Like, now that they both got to react to it, they could cope with it civilly. And Troy was making a real effort to make sure his last moments with Ryan weren't sad. So far, they were standing pretty good, but there was always the impact of tomorrow.

* * *

><p>Troy parked on the opposite side of the road to the Military Entrance Processing Station, his mouth set in a hard line. Ryan's face was ashen as well. This was it. Neither one of them was up for flowery goodbyes, but it was the last time they'd see each other for a while. Troy's gaze, which was hidden beneath large sunglasses, drifted to the other inductees wishing their girlfriends and family goodbye. His lips twitched but then he turned to Ryan.<p>

"I'm not coming back after basic training," he informed him. "I know most soldiers get a few days of break between basic and actually serving to say goodbye and stuff, but I'm not going to do that." He paused, listening to Ryan's unsaid question. "Because if I do, I know I'll want to stay here." His grip tightened on the wheel.

"You don't have to do this, you know," his partner murmured, a last effort he knew was futile. "We could run away to Canada. Just you and me. We could make our own lives; settle down maybe." He paused, biting his lower lip as he added quietly. "Maybe get married…"

"And you decide to tell me this _now_?"

"I only thought of it a couple hours ago," he reasoned. "And I already told you I don't do stuff like this. I always do the right thing – what people tell me to do. I've never done anything rebel-ish before. Well, besides telling off my sister. Other than that, you know me – I'm too afraid to do something like break the law." At the end, his voice had turned to plea.

"Well, it's a little too late now," he remarked sourly. They were quiet a moment, both unwilling to say goodbye and part. Ryan finally spoke up:

"Can you promise me one thing?"

"I already made you a promise," he insisted.

"Just one more," he urged. Troy sighed, but allowed it. "Promise me that whatever happens – if you're in danger or whatever – you'll get out of there. Don't look back or anything; just get out as fast as you can. Please?" When he didn't answer right away, he repeated himself, "Please?"

"Of course, Ry," he answered. "I'll do everything I can." Ryan nodded, his gaze shifting to something on the windshield. Troy reached back and grabbed his suitcase, preparing to leave. He looked back at him and kissed his cheek before exiting the car.

"Oh, Troy," Ryan called after him. The brunette paused in closing the door, peering back at him. His boyfriend lost his train of thought as he stared back. "Just, uh…don't get a crew cut." He then pushed up a sympathetic smile. Troy laughed, shaking his head.

"I love you," he remarked, savoring this small joy in his mind as he made his walk across the street and to the induction building. He turned back at the foot of the steps and gave Ryan a last wave goodbye. His flamboyant partner returned it, his eyes never leaving Troy's form until he disappeared behind the door.

* * *

><p>That night was the first time Ryan began to dream of Troy. Contrary to what he expected though, the dreams weren't nightmares of his partner dying. They were elated dreams where he was held close to the athlete's chest, Troy murmuring something comforting in his ear. But what the exact words were though, he couldn't recall.<p> 


	5. If You Only Knew

**A/N:** I did warn you all of it's length, right? And the reason is basically this: we need to cover a year in a chapter. The good part for you all though, is that there's lots of breaks. So feel free to leave and come back later. I also apologize for parts of the beginning and end: those are kind of choppy and evidence of my current problem. The middle stuff seemed to survive, so I guess that's okay.

I probably should have mentioned this in Ch. 2(?) that I don't own Neil, but I thought I would say that now since he actually gets a scene here. I also don't own Maroon 5, Twilight, Fried Green Tomatoes, Killers, Michelle Branch, and whatever else I made references to in this chapter. However, I DO own my OCs, those recyclable things.

My last and final note: a few of the occurrences in here are true, I just twisted them for the story so they're obviously the wrong date. Hopefully, you all have kept yourselves informed enough to know the difference and not mistake fiction for fact.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Five:<strong> If You Only Knew

Troy's new absence was, in all essence of the word, different. Ryan couldn't exactly point out why – it wasn't like they'd spent an excessive amount of time together before – but for some reason, he felt somewhat detached from life. The apartment was constantly buzzing with visitors, each kindly lit face eager to keep Ryan in good spirits during the transition, but his small pleasure in their company felt…faded. Even the comfort of his routine failed to keep him lively, for he'd still find himself up at night staring longingly at Troy's side of the bed. Or other times, he'd stumble in and call his name aloud, waiting for a reply that never came (which mostly happened on drunk occasions). Either way, an ache in his heart took root in his soul as he missed the companionship Troy had to offer. Sometimes, he'd even venture into the brunette's dresser and steal a shirt, just so he could inhale the familiar cologne that could only be described as Troy.

As for the cherry that graced the dessert of his newfound misery; the dreams of his boyfriend were slowly starting to disappear. The one time he actually got to interact with him, even in a fantasy, was being taken away from him. Ryan didn't confide this with anyone, knowing how crazy it sounded, but he felt a new type of devastation hit him at their vanishing. Like it was finally occurring to him through and through that Troy was truly gone. But it was as Ninny Threadgoode said, 'a heart can be broken, but it still keeps a beating just the same.'

With that being said, he continued to survive, even though he felt hollow on the inside. A bunch of his theater friends tried cheering him up a bit; coming over, buying him dinner, bringing expensive wine, etc, etc. all of which Ryan appreciated, but did little to revive him.

"If you need anything – and I mean _anything_ – let me know, all right," Nathan tried assuring him. Ryan thanked the protégé graciously, unaware that the famous Nathan Lane even knew his name. Sure, he'd interned for the show, _The Addams Family_, last year, but he didn't realize the Broadway actor had remembered him.

Ryan also became the recipient of numerous phone calls from friends and family back home. Troy's parents checked in to see if he was doing all right by himself in New York and offered to help him with anything he wished, despite the distance between the Big Apple and Albuquerque. Chad and Taylor offered comforting words when they called, although they too voiced their concerns for Troy's welfare. Then Sharpay stopped by to see him, taking him out to dinner where they got to catch up for the time being. She never once mentioned Troy or said anything to soothe him on that debacle, but overall, he found her visit the most compassionate. His own parents called him as well (all the way from New Zealand where they had a conference of some sort) and his mother fussed over him incessantly, worried for her 'Ducky'.

The most surprising call of all though, was one from Gabriella. She and Ryan hadn't been on the best of terms ever since Troy left her for him (little did she know that Troy had been seeing Ryan before he made that decision). The blonde wouldn't call his fling with the basketball star during the Gabriella Era cheating, although it did seem like it. He merely considered it a time where Troy was exploring his sexuality. After all, he had strictly laid out the rules saying that their affair couldn't exceed anything more than flirtatiousness.

Oh, he could recall the first time they'd ever kissed as distinctly as he could remember receiving the Juilliard scholarship. It was one of the first days of winter in New York, and after a long day of dragging Gabriella and Troy up and down the streets of the city, Troy – being the typical goof he was – wound up slipping on some snow and ice and busting his knee. Ryan had to haul him back to his apartment and clean him up (as he felt it was his responsibility as the host) and it was in that conversation that led to the fate that brought them together.

"You know, as a kid, whenever I'd get banged up like this, my mom would kiss it to make it feel better," he had stated as Ryan dabbed at the bleeding scrapes with peroxide. The athlete took a quick intake of breath at the contact but remained calm after that.

"So…are you expecting me to kiss it or what?" Ryan had wondered jokingly. Troy had laughed in reply.

"Sure, why not," he challenged. "Guys like you are into that, right?" The theater boy tried to pretend that wasn't offensive.

"I can get Gabriella to do it instead," he assured him, standing up.

"No, wait – Ry, don't go," he called after him. Ryan stood in slight conflict before deciding to stay. He was quiet, waiting for the brunette to say something. When he didn't, he obliged to the task asked of him and leaned over and kissed his knee. Their eyes locked as soon as he looked up again, a long moment passing between them as they were utterly captivated in the moment and each other. Finally, Troy whispered, "You can kiss me if you'd like." At that, the blonde shook his head, aware of Gabriella who was just in the other room. It wouldn't be fair to her, he'd chided himself. As if to reassure him, Troy cocked a smug smile. "You're just afraid I'll kiss back."

So he did. And ever since that moment he felt awkward around the Latina girl, especially after he and Troy made themselves an official couple. It was then that Ryan felt horrible since he didn't want her to feel he was flaunting his relationship with Troy in front of her face. He guessed she perceived it that way, however, since he didn't really hear much from her again. Well, until now, which added a new layer of discomfort. But she seemed genuinely concerned for Troy and even for him as they tip-toed around each other in their conversation. At long last (and to Ryan's relief), they finally had to say their goodbyes and Gabriella made a false promise to call him again soon.

But it wasn't until all the fussing began to subside did Ryan receive a letter in the mail from – his heart lightened – Troy. Dumbfounded by the name on the return address, it didn't take him long to tear it open. His hands shook in contentment as he quickly read over the contents; taking in every miniscule detail his partner chose to write about, which wasn't much. All Troy wrote about was that Basic Training was going well and that he was going to be a member of the Army – although, he was quick to add afterward: _I know what you're going to say Ry, but hey, it's better than the Marines. Right?_ The ending notes that followed only entailed the emotions Ryan felt as well regarding their relationship and distance.

Inspired by his endeavor to communicate, it didn't take him long to compose a response. Ryan retold some of the events that happened while Troy was gone (he made a point of telling him about the peculiarity of Gabriella) as well as other things of loose importance such as the theater gossip and baseball scores. It felt so good to talk to him again, even if it was through note passing. But perhaps, that small contact would help him survive the months on his own.

* * *

><p>The summer passed by rather peacefully. More letters were exchanged between the two with updates in each other's lives. Ryan made a point of keeping Troy informed in everything while Troy made sure that Ryan knew he was okay. Basic Training soon ended and he prepared himself to be flown overseas to one of the army bases. But in the gap of time between the end of training and the transportation, he made sure to communicate frequently with Ryan through his letters and even phone calls.<p>

_Don't worry Ry, _he wrote in one. _When I'm in Afghanistan, I'll just be making milk runs. You know, driving machinery here and there and transporting supplies to the Marines. That's it. So get some sleep and quit worrying!_

_You better not get blown up_, Ryan had replied rather bitterly. _Be careful._

By early September, Troy was overseas. He reported right away that he couldn't believe how hot it was. Even though he had trained during the scorching months of June and July, it couldn't compare to the heat of Central Asia (although Troy referred to it as the Middle East). _The land could've been beautiful_, he also added. _But it's so war-torn there's nothing left._

At the knowledge of him arriving to the base, Ryan kept a warier eye on the CNN. He didn't want to miss any news about the other side of the world, especially now since Troy was there. It wasn't that he didn't trust Troy when he said he was safe, it was more that he couldn't trust the world to stay safe.

* * *

><p>A few weeks into Troy's new duty on foreign terrain, Ryan received another letter from him stating: <em>Hey Ry, I've got a surprise for you. Around 11-ish (a.m.) on October 1<em>_st__, I need you to follow these instructions…_

Ryan remained intrigued for the next few days, his mind trying to flip over what Troy could possibly surprise him with. But knowing his partner, it could be the most peculiar and bizarre thing in the entire world that held no practical use, and Ryan would still adore it because the look on the brunette's face basically said that he was giving him his heart.

Although this time, he wouldn't be seeing his boyfriend's pretty face, Ryan reminded himself grimly. He was running on a treadmill at one of the local gyms when he found himself musing the situation again. He rarely noticed the time pass anymore; it was just a blend of events he hardly paid attention to. Ryan wasn't sure if that was necessarily healthy, but it was better than moping around the apartment doing nothing except curl up in the fetal position like that of Bella Swan.

It wasn't like he was completely out of it though. He still socialized plenty well, persisted to stay dedicated to his career, maintained his impeccable character, and even cracked a few jokes. But when he wasn't around people (people that could monitor his behavior), he was only half there. He'd read a magazine but not remember a single word on the page. Or he'd find himself sitting on his bed but couldn't recall how he got there. He assumed this was how he was coping with Troy's absence and the fact that he was constantly missing him. Although Ryan felt embarrassed that this was taking such a toll on him. He wasn't needy. He wasn't clingy. He had never complained about the few hours they spent together. In fact, he thought that made them special; that when they actually went out to dinner, it meant something because they had to make time for it. They appreciated each other more. And when he spent months apart from his family, he never felt such anguish. Yes, he missed them, but it never took such a blow on his mental health.

He decided that his misery originated in the fact that Troy was in danger. He didn't have to worry about his parents getting shot tomorrow or his sister stepping into a vehicle that has a bomb attached to it. But with Troy, he was constantly praying for his welfare – hoping that the letter he received the night before wouldn't be the last and wishing his partner would come home to him unharmed. And for as much time that he spent convincing himself that Troy would be fine, the murky thoughts were still there in the back of his mind.

* * *

><p>October first rolled around fast with Ryan anxious to figure out the surprise. He woke up that morning fairly early (considering his schedule) and fixed himself a small breakfast, although he didn't eat much since he was already filled with butterflies.<p>

When the designated time came near, Ryan picked up the letter again and came over to the computer, rereading Troy's sloppy penmanship to fulfill each direction. He didn't really understand what he was asking him to do, not completely tech-savvy when it came to all aspects of computers. He was just starting to understand his phone, let alone a computer.

"Troy, sometimes I swear you're trying to make my life difficult," he muttered under his breath as he reread the last step, making sure he made no error. As a result, a new screen popped up on the monitor.

"Welcome to the twenty-first century, Ry," a man on the video said. "Miss me yet?" The blonde blinked, slightly taken aback. He looked at the pixilated figure, nothing in his appearance striking him as familiar. Well, until he met the pair of bright blue eyes.

"Troy?" He asked in disbelief. The guy chuckled in response.

"The one and only," he assured him. Ryan gave him another hard look, taking in everything new and different in his countenance.

"My god," he commented. "What the fuck did they do to your hair?"

"You like it?" Troy inquired, his hand self-consciously running through the short strands of his buzz cut.

"It's hideous," he replied.

"In my defense – it is _not_ a crew cut," he told him. "You told me not to get that so I didn't. You should be happy." But he was smiling in amusement at his reaction. Ryan shook his head.

"This is unreal," Ryan remarked, his eyes growing wide with awe. "I mean, look at this! I'm talking to you through a computer. I can see you!" _I can see you_, he repeated to himself gratefully.

"Pretty cool, huh?" Troy agreed. "Technology can do amazing things. Plus, I can't stand writing any more letters. I mean, I love you Ry, but I hate it. Too much time. Too much work. So, I had a buddy from communications help hook this up so I can see you. And quite honestly, I like talking to you better this way."

"Me too."

"And with your schedule being backwards, it works out perfectly," he added. "With the time difference and all that crap." Ryan nodded.

"I'm just glad that I get to see you," he told him.

"Yeah, it wasn't the easiest thing, I'll tell you that," he replied. "But I'll try to talk to you as much as I can. I can't promise that we'll be able to do this everyday, but I'll make an effort to communicate at least twice a week. It can be about random stuff too! We don't have to talk about the military or how much we miss each other or any of that. We could argue about stupid things. Like old times." He winked at him. Ryan smiled, brightened by Troy's virtual presence (although it would be a while before he adjusted to his boyfriend's appearance). They talked conventionally for about an hour, bringing up subjects they hadn't touched on for a while and enjoying the other's company. Eventually, Troy had to say his goodbye, informing him that their visits had to stay short. He blew his lover a kiss and promised to log on soon (a few days tops) before the screen became blank again.

* * *

><p>Several days after their encounter, Ryan met his sister for a shopping day in their beloved city. Sharpay was pining after a career in the Arts as well, although she wasn't making it very far besides putting her foot in the door. But in her typical manner, she <em>knew<em> her career was going to take off soon. It was just a matter of the world getting it's crap together to make it happen.

Before he could even get a word of hello, her mouth was already moving.

"Ryan, your skin looks nice today," she commented. "It has a glow to it." Which was basically her code of deciphering his mood before he even had to tell her. His sister's reading pleased him; unlike the analysis she gave him last month commenting that he looked so pale that he might as well live in the north pole so he wouldn't feel so ashamed. Ryan was almost hurt by her statement until he realized that this was her way of telling him she was worried.

He was quick to tell her about his conversation with Troy via computer which she seemed to be familiar with already.

"You mean like Skype?" She asked, although Ryan wasn't entirely sure what that was.

He continued to talk happily, content with the communication device that allowed him to talk and interact with Troy. When his bubbling was starting to die down though, Sharpay finally put her two cents in.

"Look Ryan, I'm happy you're all psyched about this and all," she started, pulling a blouse in front of her to inspect in the mirror. "But you should really have a back up plan."

"Back up plan?" He questioned.

"Yeah," she insisted. "Just in case this doesn't end well, you've got to prepare your mental health for living a life without Troy. In fact, you should be doing that right now while he's gone."

"What are you trying to say?"

"I'm saying that you keep acting like your life is on hold or doesn't matter or something until that boy gets back from war. Well, tough noodles Ryan, because you need to figure out how to live in a world without him. If not for your sake now, then do it in case he never comes back." Leave it to Sharpay to either say it how it is or create innuendos. Ryan wasn't sure what to think as the fate was being spelled out in front of him once again.

"Troy will come home safe and sound," he told her idly, barely able to convince himself. "He promised."

* * *

><p>"Ryan, can I open my eyes now?" Troy inquired. "This is ridiculous." He heard Ryan giggle on the other side before answering:<p>

"No, now keep them closed!"

"I am, I am, I promise," came the response.

Ryan brought the laptop around the apartment, finally dragging it into the kitchen where he cleared a space to allow it to rest without getting spoiled by food product. The counters were mostly covered with flour and other baking materials, the kitchen a total pigsty. Cleanliness was not Ryan's strength.

"All right, you may open your eyes now," Ryan said when he finished lighting the candles. He brought it over so Troy could see it too. "Ta da! Happy Birthday, babe!" Troy laughed at the mess of cake Ryan made, shaking his head. It looked like something a two year old made but he decided he liked it better than any store bought cake.

"It's beautiful Ryan!" He praised. "The frosting makes it interesting." He then winked at him to signal he was joking.

"Well the damned thing wouldn't stick to the cake, instead it kept taking pieces of the cake off," he said in his defense. "It's been putz-y all morning." Troy laughed.

"Just like you," he teased. Ryan stuck his tongue out at him. "Thanks for the birthday wishes though."

"I had to do something," he reasoned. "Now blow our your candles."

"You serious?"

"Of course I am," he insisted. "Come on, make a wish."

"Fine, fine. I think you already know what I'm going to ask for though," he told him before making a small blow, knowing that it wouldn't take out the flames. Ryan smiled at him, and then grinned when Troy's face became puzzled to find that the candles were extinguished. A small fan out of Troy's sight caused the parlor trick. "Ry, what'd you do to it?"

"I didn't do anything," he insisted, setting the cake on the counter.

"Candles can't take themselves out," Troy argued. "You did something to them."

"Or maybe it was a ghost," Ryan added sarcastically. "Do you want to open your present now or are you going to sit here and argue with me?"

"Oh yeah," he said, remembering his gift. "You know, I was half tempted to open it the first day I got it – just for a peek – but your wrapping is so elaborate that I could never sneak it past you. But no kidding, it was driving me crazy." He picked up the well wrapped box Ryan had sent him a week earlier, shaking it a little. The blonde pulled up a stool so he could watch.

"Did you get your parents' gift?" Ryan inquired before he could tear the paper apart.

"Yeah, they're real sweet," he answered. "They sent me some cheese and meat and stuff, saying it'd be a nice change from the army food – although that stuff isn't bad either." He then chuckled as he began to tear the wrapping paper.

"Believe it or not, I spent more money on the paper than the gift," Ryan informed him.

"You going cheap on me?" He taunted lightheartedly.

"I chose sentimentality over money," he clarified as Troy opened the flat box and admired his present. Ryan watched him finger the frame he had designed himself.

"Our first winter," he said out loud, his mind lost in the memory of the photograph. Ryan had spent days looking through pictures of the two of them and ultimately found himself lost in a photo of the early stages of their relationship, a freeze frame of them throwing snow at each other in Central Park. Gabriella had brought a professional-looking camera to capture the beauty of New York when she and Troy visited him that winter, allowing photographs depicting motion to come out beautifully. And with the two laughing at each other – snow encrusted into Troy's long hair while Ryan defended himself from an attack of retribution – it seemed so blatantly obvious that they were dating, even though Gabriella remained clueless.

It was hard to believe how simple and innocent their lives were back then. But, perhaps, that's what drew Ryan's attention to it in the first place. Now, it engrossed Troy too.

"Thank you Ry," he added absently, taking the picture out of its frame and putting it in an interior pocket of his uniform. "You always make me feel so special."

"You don't want the frame?"

"I can't carry a frame with me 24/7 Ry," he explained. "But I want to keep the picture with me, if that's all right. That way I won't lose it."

"Of course," he agreed. "It's your gift."

"Yeah, thanks for the birthday wishes," he insisted. "They mean so much to me Ry, really. Unfortunately, I've got to get to sleep. I'm supposed to bring out more supplies tomorrow at five." He made a face. "But I'll see you soon, okay?" Ryan nodded and Troy disappeared from the monitor, leaving him with nothing but a fucked up cake.

* * *

><p>"You remember Andrew, right?" Neil asked him during a break in rehearsal. Ryan was patting a towel to his neck to soak up the sweat while the elder celebrity took a sip from his water bottle. "He was interning around the theater and ended up understudying for that dancer who broke his leg."<p>

"Oh yeah, I remember," Ryan said, a faint bell ringing in his head. "He got drafted last year, right?" Neil nodded as he took another swig of water.

"Yeah, poor kid," he stated. "He died yesterday along with the twenty other soldiers they listed in the news last night. A few of us were thinking of attending the memorial service to pay our respects you know. Do you want to come with?" Ryan nodded slowly, digesting this information.

"Wow," he remarked. "His family must be devastated."

"Oh, his partner is a mess," Neil told him. "He was such a sweet kid, too. Definitely not military material. I always feel bad about sending these young men off to some foreign ground. I mean, they have their whole future ahead of them and then something like this happens and suddenly it's gone. It's sickening." Ryan couldn't remember when he and Neil became friends, as it seemed unlikely that they'd ever be as close as they were, especially since Neil had reached stardom in his career, an icon and inspiration for many while Ryan was barely a name. Not to mention there was a generational difference between them. Despite all these though, they'd grown close in their professional lives, offering the other support and guidance. Not to mention Ryan heard some interesting gossip back from Hollywood.

"It's a good thing you don't have to worry about being drafted," he replied.

"I'm extremely grateful," he agreed. "Especially now that David and I have to the twins to take care of. I couldn't imagine being separated from them for that long. I mean, I know my presence in New York is already hard to manage, but to be overseas would be entirely different." Ryan nodded. Neil looked him over. "How are you doing by the way?"

"Good," he answered simply.

"I mean with your partner being in Afghanistan," he clarified.

"It's all right; we're surviving," Ryan replied easily. "I hear from him often so I don't worry as much."

"That's a relief. We were all worried about you for a while," he confided. "This is a hard thing to deal with. But I'm glad you're handling it decently."

"I try," he said dourly as their director called them back to the stage.

* * *

><p>Ryan relayed the events of the funeral to Troy, completely heartbroken by it. He'd barely known Andrew, and yet he'd had the impulse to cry by watching all the other grieving faces. His partner remained mostly solemn throughout his speech, not adding to the discussion so Ryan could get out all the emotion that was bothering him.<p>

"I mean, all I can think of is: what if it happens to us," Ryan mentioned briefly in his babblings, hardly holding back to tell Troy exactly how he felt. The brunette watched him talk, his eyes drooping with lack of sleep. Every second tempted him with rest but he refused to give in for Ryan needed him.

As his lids grew heavier, it echoed over and over in his mind: _what if it happens to us?_

* * *

><p>A few weeks passed with no word from Troy. No video chat, no letters, <em>nothing<em>. Ryan tried to excuse the behavior at first, but after each day that went by without communication, he began to worry more. At first it was just fidgeting – the buttons of his clothes, the edges of his vests, the tilt of his fedoras. Then he became vigilant with everything regarding communication. He was constantly checking the news to see which soldiers had fallen and he went through all his mail looking for Troy's name on the return address label. Neither of them were helpful.

Lastly came his clumsiness and therefore his failure to focus. He'd try to get himself something to eat but wound up more often times than not spilling and cleaning after it. Even his steps were off, becoming the only dancer who faltered and stumbled with the choreography. And he wasn't the only one who noticed.

"Do you need to sit down," Blake, a fellow dancer, leaned over to ask. At first he refused, but when he bumped into him later, he finally agreed to it. Excusing them both, Blake led him outside the theater, muttering something along the lines of 'needing fresh air'.

"It's stupid, I have those steps memorized," Ryan insisted, sitting down against the concrete wall. He was slightly disgusted in having to touch the filthy back of the building, but he didn't care enough to get up.

"I bet you do," the other agreed, handing him a bottle of water. He then took out a pack of cigarettes. "You mind?" He asked. Ryan looked up at him and then shook his head. With his approval, Blake lit one for himself and took in a long whiff of the addictive killer, a grateful look on his face like he hadn't had one in a while.

"Smoking gives you wrinkles," Ryan commented quietly.

"And lung cancer," he added. "I know. But I got into it when I was sixteen, and now…I can't get out." He breathed it in again and then released a sigh of smoke. "So what's with you, Ry?"

"Just having an off day," he replied nonchalantly.

"No, no," Blake insisted. "None of this crap. When you have an off day, you're a full step ahead of everyone else, not behind. And definitely not fooling around like you don't know them. So what's really on your mind?"

"Are you stalking me?" Ryan asked, the corners of his lips hinting to a smile.

"That's what friends are for," he answered with a grin. "Now spill already."

He bit his lower lip as he messed with the wrapper around the water bottle, half-tempted to take it off. But knowing Blake would grill him for the answer one way or another, he replied simply, "I haven't heard from Troy in a while." He bit himself a little harder in an effort to avoid tearing up like he wanted to.

"Oh," he realized, finally taking a seat beside him. Any chance to humor him flew out the window. "How long?" He asked carefully.

"Two weeks," Ryan answered somberly. "That's four times he could've talked to me. Maybe even five." His lower lip trembled as he took a sip of water.

"He's probably caught up with something," Blake tried to reason. "I'm sure he's fine, Ry. You're just overreacting." He then pushed a smile, trying to get the blonde to return it.

"You think so?" He inquired.

Blake grinned, holding the same amount of audacity as Troy did as he replied simply, "I don't think, Ry. I know."

* * *

><p>Ryan decided Blake was a miracle worker the morning afterwards when he logged on and found Troy was on as well. He was mostly relieved, almost to the point of jumping up and down or screaming or something to show his excitement, but a part of him resented him for making him worried sick.<p>

Recollecting his dash of emotions, he allowed the monitor to pop up so they could speak finally.

"I'm so glad you're okay," he burst before Troy could get a word out. "I was worried about you for a while. I mean, it's been a few weeks and I haven't heard from you and I even thought something happened but – what the hell? Why wouldn't you talk to me? I'm glad you're okay and all, but come on? You have no idea what you put me through. I almost thought you were…just don't do that again. Please." He took in a breath.

"Ry, would you let me talk," he asked, his voice a bit bitter. The blonde became quiet instantly, abiding his wishes. But in doing so, he finally took the time to focus on Troy. He seemed even more different than he remembered. His body looked worn, almost weak, while something was amiss in his eyes. It almost seemed like he aged quite a few years in the time apart. Either that, or he hadn't given him a good look the last time.

"I'm sorry I haven't talked to you in a while," he started. "But quite frankly, that's not my fault. In fact, I'm not really supposed to be here, but I came anyway because I knew you'd be freaking out like this." Ryan felt it was confirmed. There was something definitely different about him. He continued to explain his situation, enunciating slowly so to calm himself. "You see; I kind of got in an accident. I was late delivering supplies and I got there and some sort of explosive went off in the town nearby. Some guys were scouting over there, so they recruited me and a few others to check it out. The place was a mess – chaos. I watched…I watched – " he paused a moment, trying to recapture his composer. "There are some things Ry…that I saw…I can't even tell you – " his eyes welled up with tears as he reminisced the events of that day. He sniffled and held down the tears, determined not to cry. He wound up putting his fist to his mouth for a few seconds, biting his knuckle to stabilize his emotions. "I don't expect you to understand. It was just…horrible. There are some things that are just wrong in this world – death's one them. The other's war. I'm not…proud of what I'm doing. You wouldn't be either…" he blinked and the drops he'd tried so hard to avoid raced down his cheek. Ryan shook his head.

"I will always love you," he insisted, a part of him wanting to clarify the exact events of that day, but Troy was obviously still sensitive to it. "Everything's going to be fine, okay?"

"You don't know what we did," he answered solemnly, shaking his head. "I just want to come home." He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand.

"I do too," Ryan said quietly, suddenly feeling guilty about lecturing him earlier.

"I hate this place," he confided rancorously and he became silent for a long period of time, deep in thought. His partner watched him for most of that time, his brain rushing to find ways he could console him. However, Troy looked incurable as he was dealing with his share of trauma. And Ryan had no idea how to approach it.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart, I don't know what to tell you," he finally admitted. "But I'm here for you, you know that right?" Troy nodded.

"I know you are, Ry," he said, his voice softening to a tone he only saved for Ryan. "And I love you for it, but…" He trailed off and didn't finish, although Ryan was pretty sure he couldn't.

"Are you going to be okay?" He asked worriedly.

"Maybe," he said. "I got hit by some rubble, so they're treating the burns at the medical wing – that's why I couldn't talk to you. Don't worry – " he added quickly at the expression on Ryan's face. "They're not bad, and they'll heal soon. In fact, they put me on something that's got me looped up over half the time. What I remember is way worse than a couple of second-degree burns." He said it as mechanically as he could so the memories wouldn't come racing back to paint pictures in front of his lids.

"Second-degree?" Ryan repeated. "Are you sure you're okay? Are you in pain? Do you want me to send you something?" Troy actually broke out in a small smile.

"God, do I miss you," was all he would say to answer any of those questions. He then checked the time and sighed. "I should probably get back before they hunt me down."

"Check in soon, okay?" He reminded him.

"I'll try," he stated. It was the last time Troy ever spoke of the military.

* * *

><p>"It was weird seeing him like that," Ryan admitted as he and his sister sat inside at one of the local Starbucks'. He took a careful sip of his coffee before glancing out the window and into the crowded streets of New York. He sighed wistfully. It was snowing.<p>

"Do you think he'll have PTSD when he gets back," Sharpay asked, filing her nails as she listened to her brother vent.

"PS- what?" He questioned. She looked at him like he was demented or something.

"Post-traumatic stress disorder, Ry," she enunciated. "You know, the soldiers who come back crazy or something."

"I hope not," he commented, suddenly concerned. "I didn't think it only happened to soldiers though."

"It doesn't," she agreed. "But I always get that stereotypical image of Vietnam Veterans when I think of it." Ryan sat back in his chair, fidgeting with his finger gloves as his mind focused on Troy. He wouldn't come home messed up, would he? Ryan wasn't sure what he would do if that were the case. His stomach coiled nauseatingly as he thought about it. The world would just be easier if the draft didn't exist.

"Damn it, I hate the military," he exclaimed, resting his forehead in his hand, leaning over the table. Sharpay tried to pretend his outburst wasn't awkward, especially when a woman passed in front of their table wearing a 'Support our Troops' logo.

"Do you really mean that?" She asked skeptically.

"Of course I do," he said, his voice low but forceful. "First they take the man I love away from me, and now they've got him absolutely tortured in his duty. And then they just expect me to take it. I won't stand for that!" Sharpay looked up at him.

"You done?"

"Yes," he decided, sitting back in his chair again. He was quiet for a minute before he added under his breath, "I just wish I could do something about it." That seemed to be his real conflict with the situation. The government was capable of sending a life-changing note and he couldn't say a word about it. Troy could experience whatever horrendous thing that's happened to him – even moving him to tears at the thought of it – and all Ryan could do was sit and watch. Perhaps he was just a spoiled rich brat, but he wasn't used to things being out of his control. There was always something he could do to reverse the situation. But this? There was nothing he could do. And for the first time in his life, he felt completely helpless.

* * *

><p>"You know, when Troy turned twenty-one, I threw him a huge birthday bash here," Ryan said as leaned against the frame of the couch, situating himself on the floor between the coffee table and the furniture behind him. "It was crazy. He was so excited to have his first drink – I got an expensive bottle of wine for the occasion – but he was such a goofball trying to take out the cork." The blonde smiled at the memory, almost chuckling. "He'd barely used the corkscrew, trying to prove that he could get it out all by himself. You know, I knew from the moment he said he was going to do it that something would go wrong. But Troy's too hard-headed to listen to me.<p>

"Anyway, so he got the bottle between his knees and made a few attempts, but of course that didn't work. So he makes another effort to pull the bottle and the cork separate from each other and at first it was doing nothing, but finally the thing started giving way. So he gave it one last tug and – BAM! – he took the cork out and me with it." At this he laughed at, reminded of Troy's clumsiness in that situation. Could he be any more in love with him?

"God, were you okay?" Blake asked him, although he was finding the event humorous too. He took another swig of the whisky that brought them to this discussion in the first place.

"He broke my nose," Ryan said in reply. "His elbow got me square in the face!" His dark haired friend allowed himself to laugh at this.

"He must've felt so-o bad," he insisted. "Taking out his boyfriend on his birthday."

"At least it wasn't _my _birthday," Ryan commented. "That would've been worse."

"True," he allowed.

"Anyways, he was so guilty about it that he came just short of being my housemaid," he continued. "He insisted on cleaning up after his party and doing tasks for me, insisting that I needed rest. You know, I shouldn't be proud of this," he started, but there was a mischievous glint to his eyes that said differently. " – but I started using him to my advantage. I got him to clean every corner of this place – there was not even a speck of dust by the time he finished. And then there was the make-up sex – " he paused, his face heating up as he reminisced those times. "I got three months of that before he caught on to what I was doing."

"Ryan!" Blake scolded, smacking his arm playfully. "That was mean of you!"

"What can I say, I _am_ an Evans," he replied cheekily. "Naturally, my first instinct is to manipulate people." He then elbowed him lightheartedly only to receive one back.

"Still…" he insisted. "Poor Troy."

The blonde shrugged. "The cleaning part maybe…" He fingered the lip of his wine cooler before taking another sip. He had a moderate buzz but he wasn't really motivated to drink himself silly. And Blake could hold his liquor in a way he had never witnessed yet. Even after spending time at the bar, the two of them were still somewhat sober.

"I should probably go," Blake commented reluctantly as he let his head rest on the sofa. He turned to Ryan, knowing that this was the moment his blonde friend had been avoiding all night.

"You sure you can't stay for five more minutes," he asked. The other shook his head.

"It's past four, Ry," he emphasized. "We both need sleep."

"You could sleep here," he suggested. Blake looked him over skeptically.

"Do you think Troy would be okay with that?" He asked. Ryan looked down but didn't answer. "Didn't think so," he said, moving to stand up. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Please," he called after him, longing to have a companion. "I'm sick of being alone." And as he said it, he knew it was true. He was tired of waking up alone, eating by himself, only to wound up going to sleep again unaccompanied. Just having another presence in the apartment made him feel twice as better. And now that he found someone to talk to, he didn't want him to leave. Blake seemed to realize this also, as he looked back at Ryan guiltily. He didn't want to offend Troy with his existence while he was at war, but Ryan's happiness needed to be attended to as well. Surely, none of this had to be easy on him.

"Okay," he allowed quietly, sitting down beside him. Ryan allowed himself to rest against his shoulder, an emotional warmth wrapping around him just to be near another person's body. Although a deep part of his subconscious wished he was enveloped in Troy's arms instead.

* * *

><p>A few days after New Year's, it was announced to the public that the secret service had taken out several of the leaders to the Al Qaeda regime, significantly impairing the opposition. The entire country seemed to rejoice, seeing as the war was finally declining. Even to the point where the President announced the next day that they'd be withdrawing troops as soon as manageable.<p>

Ryan was overjoyed. He'd been with a few of his theater friends when the announcement came, and he just about hugged and kissed every single one of them – even the few straight ones. He couldn't believe how good he felt, to the point that he just about wound up in tears. It gave him hope that perhaps maybe Troy would be home sooner than he thought.

Troy seemed to disagree.

"I'm not coming home," he said flatly when they spoke again. The smile that hadn't left Ryan's face began to vanish. Those simple words seemed to shatter the joy he'd felt ever since that report.

"Well, surely you'll be back soon," he tried. "They took out the leaders after all."

"Yeah," he commented with a sigh, although it had nothing to do with the former part of his statement. "I can't believe how many people are rejoicing somebody's death," Troy said in disgust. "That's still a human life, you know."

Ryan wasn't sure what to say to that.

* * *

><p>Blake scrutinized his blonde friend as he sat hunched over the table, tempting his glass to tip over with his finger. Right as it would enter the phase that gravity could pull it down, Ryan would carefully let it rock back to it's vertical state before testing it's strength to tip once again. And then he'd let the cycle repeat over and over.<p>

"I take it you're depressed again," he commented lightly, not even needing to raise his voice over the drone of the karaoke machine and voices that sounded remotely like singing.

Ryan looked up at him and made a slight scowl from beneath the brim of his hat but refused to say anything. Blake shrugged as he took a swig of his beer. The pub was nearly in full swing and they were wasting time just sitting there. Not even socializing.

"You and Troy fight or something?" He inquired, trying to provoke him. Ryan's response this time was just a lift of his brow. It was progress. Ryan made two full attempts to tip his glass over before he decided to respond verbally:

"He said he wasn't coming home soon."

A look of realization crossed Blake's features as he watched Ryan's abnormally stern face. Why did it seem like his friend was only dooming himself to misery? He shook his head before giving a wayward glance to a couple singing _Loud Music_ completely out of tune on the karaoke machine. _Loud music all right_, he thought bitterly. He then perked up as he thought of an idea.

"Come with me." He urged before dragging him out of his seat and towards the karaoke machine.

* * *

><p>"I'm singing in the rain!" Blake belted loudly as they finally reached Ryan's apartment building, neither of them minding the fact that the sleet was bombarding them. Ryan wasn't sure if it was the booze or the exhilaration of singing, but he was more elated in that moment than he'd been in a long time. And for the first time in nearly eight months, Troy and everything regarding the military stood farthest away from his mind. Damn, did it feel good!<p>

His friend erupted in a fit of coughs as they came into the shelter of the indoors, both of them shaking from the cold. Ryan took off his newsboy cap and dusted off the ice, slightly annoyed by its presence.

"Where'dju learn to sing like that," he asked as they stood there shivering, unsure if he should invite Blake up to his apartment. "I've never heard anyone who could sing with that amount of depth." Blake shrugged as he lit a cigarette for himself.

"I could say the same about you," he insisted. "The way you sung _Moves Like Jagger_ nearly turned me on. No – scratch that – your dancing did that. Your hips are godly!" Ryan felt his face flush at the compliment.

"Well I just can't believe you out did Brandon Flowers while singing his song," Ryan replied. "And he is difficult to imitate."

"Trick is to sing from the back of your throat," Blake clarified. "You did fine at that as well. I just can't believe they let us be up there for that long. I almost thought we'd be up there all night singing every damn song on there!" They both broke out in laughter.

"Thanks for tonight," the blonde told him afterwards. "Even though I was hesitant at first – it was fun. I really liked it!"

"Good," he said, pleased that his plan worked. They shuffled about for a moment, although there was nothing left for them to do. Blake had accomplished escorting the young Evans home, hadn't he? That was all he meant to do. "I guess I'll be seeing you tomorrow at rehearsal?" He gave the sleet a weird look – knowing he'd have to face _that_ terror again – before opening the door. Before he could move any farther, Ryan grabbed his shoulder.

"Are you sure you don't want to stay?" He asked before his mind could think it over and protest. Hanging out with him in the twilight hours of the morning probably wasn't his brightest idea, but he enjoyed his friendship and was constantly disappointed when he had to leave. "It's cold out."

"Ryan Evans," Blake scolded, his eyes glinting back at him playfully. "What would your boyfriend say if he knew you were spending all this time with me?" Ryan opened his mouth to defend himself, but he was stopped. "I have stuff I've got to do anyway. Maybe some other time." He offered a kind smile before he disappeared into the harsh weather of the night.

* * *

><p>"Remember that night we got so drunk that we were basically sick the entire day afterwards," Ryan asked Troy towards the end of March.<p>

"Yeah, it was the first time I'd ever drank so much that I couldn't remember being drunk," he admitted. Ryan nodded.

"Well, to be honest with you, I didn't drink that much," he confessed. "Don't get me wrong, I had a pretty good buzz on, but I wasn't completely wasted. I was too worried that we'd do something completely stupid and end up getting in trouble for it." Troy shook his head and laughed. That was _so_ Ryan.

"Anyways, that night you, uh, asked me to marry you," Ryan continued, looking down at his fingers. The shift in the conversation was tangible.

"Oh," he said, a little surprised. "I did?"

Ryan nodded. "Yeah," he paused a moment before looking back up at him. "I said no." Troy looked a bit disappointed although his face tried to remain neutral. "It's not what you think," the blonde tried explaining. "It's just…the timing was bad. We had three days before you left and I know I can't plan a wedding that fast. Marriage is a big deal to me Troy, it's always been. When me and Sharpay were little, we used to imagine what our big day would be like. I always liked the traditional feel to it: the whole getting down on one knee to propose, the bride and groom not seeing each other until they're walking down the aisle, the vows – everything. I'm only going to get married once Troy, and it's going to be to you. So I want to do it right." He paused as he let that sink in and thought of what to say next. "I know it won't be exactly how I want it – I'm not stupid, I know the church won't let us in – but I'd like to keep as many of the traditions as possible."

"Even the removal of the garter," Troy asked with a grin, brightening the conversation yet again. Ryan felt his cheeks turn pink as he imagined Troy slipping the old-fashioned band off his leg.

"Yes," he answered, before clearing his throat to get rid of those thoughts. "Anyway, I guess what I'm trying to say is that I want to marry you. I really do. I know we've never really talked about it – soberly at least – but it's something I want to consider for us. Especially now, since – did you hear? – our state just legalized same sex marriage!" He waved his hands in celebration. "I've been like, invited to five different weddings since it passed." A huge grin spread over Troy's face at the news.

"Oh my God," he remarked. "That's like the best news I've heard in a long time."

"I know right!" Ryan agreed. "You have no idea how siked people are here. I mean, we've been talking about this for months at rehearsal because we thought they were going to ban it, and now we're just blown away."

"That's amazing," Troy said and he truly meant it. Marriage wasn't something he thought about often – mostly because it wasn't an option – but now as he watched Ryan's face light up as he detailed everything about the legalization in their state, he found himself wanting to finalize their relationship for once and for all.

* * *

><p>"Neil?" Ryan questioned in disbelief as he found the elder waiting for a taxi, looking pretty inconspicuous in the New York bustle. He hadn't seen Neil in months. The actor had fled back to California as soon as the musical ended in October, eager to return home to his partner and children as well as resume his roll on the ABC sitcom.<p>

Upon hearing his name, Neil turned towards him, a smile spreading across his face in recognition.

"Ryan," he greeted as they hugged each other. "It's been a while."

"Yeah," he agreed, still amazed that he found his friend on the corner of a street. "What are you doing here?"

"What am I doing here?" He repeated mockingly. "I'm here to get married!" He added the theatrics, which caused both of them to chuckle.

"I'm so happy for you!" Ryan remarked. "That must be exciting."

"Well, we've been engaged for years, so it was about time we tied the knot," he explained, but then shook his head from side to side since that wasn't precisely what he meant. "It was more so waiting on the politicians." He moved his eyebrows at that, but didn't comment on it.

"At least you can get married now."

"Right," Neil agreed. "I'm extremely grateful for that."

"So are you guys going to have an actual celebration?" Ryan inquired.

"Well, we haven't planned one yet," he replied. "We're just getting the legal stuff out of the way. But I promise you'll be getting an invitation as soon as we decide to throw a party."

"Oh, thanks."

"And your boyfriend's invited too if he's back from war by then," Neil added as a cab pulled up to the curb. He seemed hesitant to leave Ryan, yet he wasn't sure when another one would show up. "Say, I got to go meet David. It was nice seeing you though." He offered one last smile before getting inside the taxi. Ryan waved to him, thrilled that things were finally looking up.

* * *

><p>"C'mon, les-s tell secrets–s," Ryan insisted as he adjusted himself on the sofa, situated somewhere between lying down and sitting up. He hadn't felt this wasted since his and Sharpay's sixteenth birthday party where they'd busted into their parents' liquor cabinet only to wind up sick in their bathroom all night. He'd been reckless and stupid back then; completely uneducated when it came to alcohol consumption. His excuse now? If he could make himself forget everything – even for a few hours – he was content.<p>

"I don't think thas-s a smart idea," Blake commented beside him, just as drunk if not more.

"Oh c'mon Blake, you're s-s-such a par-dy pooper," he complained. "I'll even go first!" Blake snickered beside him.

"Fine," he allowed. "Was-s your secret, Ryan?" The blonde leaned closer to him, as if to whisper it in his ear.

"S-s-sometimes," he said quietly, smiling some as he continued. "I pertend you're Troy." The second after it was out there, Ryan's consciousness (even behind the drunken haze) knew the statement was true. Being with Blake reminded him of why he was ever attracted to Troy. The confidence they both held, the devotion, and even the patches of humor. Sure they differed in appearance: Troy's former shaggy locks versus Blake's unobtrusive spikes, the athlete's muscular form compared to the dancer's lean one, captivating blue eyes matched by affectionate cocoa ones – and yet despite all that, Ryan lingered on the fantasy that Blake could become Troy. Like there was a chance his kindhearted friend would materialize into the man he loved.

Blake, on the other hand – who was completely unaware of his delusions, laughed at him in disbelief.

"I'm nothin' like you're boyfriend," he remarked. "I've seen him and he is one good looking man."

"And you're not?" Ryan asked. Blake smiled.

"Are ya tryin' to tell me I'm cute?" The blonde blushed and buried his answer in a sip from his drink. Damn, he needed to stop doing this. His brunette friend looked down at his own glass for a long while before he too confessed, "Truth is Ry, I love you." Ryan watched as he struggled to meet his eyes again, embarrassed that the words were finally out. Ryan didn't really mind. In fact, he found it adorable that Blake remained conflicted with his feelings, even when he was drunk out of his mind. He loved the fact that someone dared to utter those words to him, and especially to have it come from someone he can touch. Blake was real. He was palpable. And Ryan missed the interaction with another human being. A hug. A kiss. God, he wanted it. As Blake finally looked up at him, his expression a bit guarded, Ryan found himself closing the space between them, yearning to feel the pressure of lips against his own. Just as he was sure to connect them, Blake placed his hand over his mouth. Saddened coffee brown eyes bore into his sapphire ones as he said quietly, "You love Troy."

* * *

><p>"What's with you?" Troy asked on the other side of the screen as Ryan barely managed to keep his head up in their conversation. Heck, it was a damn miracle that he even woke up. If there was such thing as a hangover from hell, Ryan had it for he was more miserable than he'd ever felt before. His body hurt in every movement he made, his head was pounding painfully in his skull, he'd been vomiting all morning, and he absolutely despised the sun for being so incredibly bright. Troy's voice was irritating him as well, but luckily he could actually turn the volume down on that.<p>

"I'm hung over," he explained, letting his head rest on the desk, even though it did little to relieve his suffering.

"Oh babe," Troy remarked dryly. "You need to quit staying out so late."

"Are you trying to help me feel better," he mumbled from his spot. "Because you're doing a real piss-poor job of it." His partner frowned at him.

"Ry, are you okay?"

"Do I look okay?" He questioned back, turning so he could see him a bit. He then looked away, the backlighting of the computer bothering him. His migraine pulsated through his head, echoing loudly in his ears. The year he'd gotten mono seemed to dull compared to his current situation.

"That's not what I meant," Troy insisted. "I've just never seen you drink this hard. Do you have a death wish or something? I mean, what if you passed out and choked on your own vomit, huh? You shouldn't be drinking so much, especially unattended like this."

"Troy, I don't have time for this," Ryan said tartly. "And for your information, I was _not_ alone. Blake was here with me most of the time."

"Blake?" He repeated, rather disgusted. In the more recent months, his name seemed to pop up more and more, much to the brunette's disapproval. He didn't particularly hate the man – he'd met Blake before and he seemed perfectly nice – but Troy had his suspicions, nursing them to a sort of resentment for the guy who was spending obviously _way_ too much time with _his_ boyfriend.

"Yeah, what's it to you?" The blonde questioned rhetorically as his mind thumbed over a fuzzy image of the night before in which he'd welcomed his colleague into the apartment. He wasn't even sure when Blake had left, for somewhere in the time that he passed out and woke up, he'd disappeared.

"You know Ryan," Troy mused as he watched him continue to rest on the wooden surface. "I don't think you should hang out with him so much."

"Who made you king?"

"I'm serious Ry," he insisted gruffly. "I don't think he's the best influence on you. I mean, every time you talk about him, it always involves drinking. And I don't think that's safe."

"Are you my mother or something?" Ryan asked sourly. _Way to release your inner bitch_, he thought sarcastically. But he was in pain and his head was throbbing and, quite frankly, he wasn't in the mood. If Troy really wanted to pitch a fight with him, he would be merciless. "Oh wait, my mother wouldn't care who I hung out with. This is _my _life Troy – you can't tell me who I can and can't hang out with."

"That's not what I'm saying –" he tried.

"Well, then it sounds like you're just jealous," he replied. Troy's eyebrows came together in a confused but stern expression.

"What?" He demanded pointedly.

"You just can't stand that I'm hanging out with someone else," he reasoned. "My god, I always knew you were the type, I just didn't realize you distrusted me _that _much." He rubbed his eyes, trying to make the pounding in his head lessen, because even though he was pointing fingers at Troy, he knew his suspicions held a little truth to them. He was always tempted to make a move with Blake, not because he loved him, but because he wanted to be adored. He missed being somewhat fawned after, his concerns attended to, a hand holding his, his body touching another. Damn, it made him sound so horny, but he couldn't help feeling the way he did. Was it truly that desperate of him to want somebody there when he needed it? Maybe.

"Ry, I'm only worried about you," Troy clarified. "I don't want you to hurt yourself. Lay off the alcohol, please?" And he felt useless being on the other side of the world, completely incapable of reinforcing his statement.

"That has nothing to do with Blake," he chided although the more he thought about it, the two kind of went hand in hand. More so, he felt he could only hang out with his friend while being intoxicated. That way he wouldn't feel guilty. Disloyal. Unfaithful. That's what he was becoming, wasn't it? A cheater. If he was sober, he wouldn't flirt with the idea. It was like eating chocolate with water so he could avoid breaking out the next day.

With that being said, he only came up with one solution in his slumped and aching state: He had to give up the chocolate.

* * *

><p>"I'm glad you two are fighting," Sharpay told him, something he <em>didn't<em> want to hear. What he'd been expecting to listen to was a sympathetic voice agreeing with him on _his _side of the argument and adding that Troy would come to his senses eventually and they'd make up and all would be good. But of course, Sharpay had to do the opposite.

"You _like_ it that me and my boyfriend are fighting," he repeated darkly. Most of his hang over was gone by now, although a small headache remained. So he still wasn't in the best mood, but he was definitely in a better one than before.

"It's healthy for your relationship," she reasoned. "If you two didn't fight about anything, I would be worried. It's like a test Ry, to see if you'll make it out on the other side. And if you don't, it just means he wasn't worth it from the start." Ryan clicked his tongue at her.

"He's just being difficult," he insisted.

"Yes, you're both stubborn," she agreed. "But he'll take back what he said and you'll change to make sure what he thinks doesn't happen, right?" He nodded. That was the plan. The less Troy knew about his suspicions being somewhat accurate, the better. Even though he knew that once they were face to face again and talked for hours on end, he'd break down and tell him the truth. But by that time, the situation would be nearly forgotten and he wouldn't be mad at him.

"Yup," he agreed verbally. "Jeez, when did you become the smart one?" She chuckled lightly.

"Face it Ry: I have way more experience in relationships than you do."

* * *

><p>"Me and a few other guys are going out for drinks tonight, you coming?" Blake asked during a break in their rehearsal. Their choreographer was working them harder than before, a tension that often appeared a week or two before the show had its opening night. A few of the dancer's were snickering and leaving crude comments in response, an evident sign that the agitation had rubbed off on them too. A night of drinks definitely sounded fun, especially to relieve the stress they were all feeling. In fact, Ryan guessed some of the water bottles were replaced with vodka instead of the typical H2O.<p>

"I can't," he replied, easier than he thought. Yet again, the rest was yet to come.

"Okay, cool," he agreed. "Maybe some other time." It was evident that he was going to leave it at that, but Ryan bit his lower lip as he knew he had to finish it. For once and for all.

"Blake, I can't hang out with you anymore," he continued. His friend looked hurt, not understanding the withdrawal. It touched his eyes as well, guilting Ryan even further since it resembled a puppy.

"Why not?" He asked.

Ryan opened his mouth to speak, but found himself momentarily lost for words. How was he supposed to explain it to him without hurting him in the process? That wasn't fair to Blake – Blake who was the only one who made him enjoy life again. After all, no matter how they felt about each other, he couldn't argue that he was, indeed, a good friend.

"I just can't," he found himself replying mechanically. "I need to sober up a little bit."

"We don't have to drink," he insisted. "I just like spending time with you, Ry."

"Yeah, that's the other thing," he replied reluctantly. "I can't be around you when I know how you feel for me." His brain found another distorted image and a nearly water-logged conversation shared between the two of them. But through the opaqueness of his memory, he could still remember his words: _Truth is Ry, I love you._

Blake pawed at the ground, embarrassed, as he too, seemed to recall that conversation.

"Ryan, you've got to know I would never come between you and Troy," he said earnestly once he felt confident to meet his gaze again. "He's good to you and he makes you happy. And that's all I want for you."

The blonde felt a lump rise in his throat. How could anyone be so sweet to him? Even when he was hurting him. He hated being the bad guy.

"You were really depressed before," Blake continued. "You might not have noticed, but you were really whacked out when he left. Everyone was really worried about you – I sure was. I just wanted you to enjoy life again. Surely you can't blame me for that." He paused a moment though, knowing his arguments wouldn't change anything. "But if you really think it's better if we keep our distance, I'll respect that. I just hope someday we can be friends again."

Ryan nodded quietly.

"Me too."


	6. Sweet Dreams

**A/N:** So, since I rigged emotions to the darker end of the spectrum last chapter, I kind of swung over and did almost the opposite here, if that's even humanly possible for me. Um, notes on the writing here: rushed through the first part, used a cliché (laughable) situation to set up Troy and Ryan's dialogue (forgive me?), and tired of editing. In my defense, I woke up at 7:30 am (on a Saturday mind you) and won a four game tournament, so eat it! Also, I've noticed writing a dream sequence is incredibly hard. It's also one of the funniest things to laugh at when an amateur writer (like Grade School level) writes it. Either way, whether I wrote at that level or not, the dream sequence's only intention was to set up for next chapter.

Last and final note: has there ever been a fic on here that _actually_ went through the details of Troy/Ryan's wedding? Everything I've ever read that comes close has mentioned the idea of marriage, but I don't think I've ever seen it done. I don't know if people are afraid of the overdone wedding plot, but I feel like that would be the step to actually finalize their relationship. But perhaps that's just my conservative Catholic view shining through.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Six:<strong> Sweet Dreams

Sharpay was right. In fact she _always_ was, but that statement was highly opinionated, especially since it originated from the Ice Queen herself. However, it was now proven to be factual in Ryan's situation. He had to face it: the wisdom of his sister's relationships benefited him greatly. For everything happened just as she'd said: he had cleaned up his mess with Blake and Troy had apologized for being judgmental. They were on the same side again – surviving the fight that apparently fated whether their relationship would last or not.

Ryan found it slightly petty to believe in something like that – one action that could doom everything and all that crap – but he wasn't about to argue with the woman who was constantly juggling boys. Currently, Sharpay was seeing some boy in New York (Peyton? Was that his name?), but whenever she'd return home, he'd hear reports of her fooling around with Zeke. Again. His sister pulled quite a few heartstrings, and she seemed to enjoy this constant game of ping-pong between the two boys. The male twin was certain it would not end well, although he wouldn't go so far as to force her to pick between the two. That was her decision. Not his.

Despite overindulging himself in Sharpay's drama, Ryan tried to address his own issues. He wouldn't consider it an actual problem…a challenge maybe…no that was still so extreme. He just found that he was having an eensy-weensy tiny-whiny itty-bitty small struggle…with alcohol. There, he admitted it. Giving up the booze was a little harder than he thought. No, he wasn't addicted – that was too strong of a word – he just enjoyed the taste of liquor more than he realized. That was it. An easy fix, he convinced himself.

But it wasn't. He'd locked up the small amount of toxic drinks he had left in a cabinet underneath the counter (unable to dump them out seeing that it would be a waste) and had given Sharpay the key to the bolt so he wouldn't be tempted to open it. However, it still didn't yield his temptations, for he was finding that he drank for everything. When he'd get nervous before a show, he'd have a shot; when he'd go out and celebrate with friends, he was at a bar; when he missed Troy, he got drunk; and when he wanted to forget, he drank until he was sick. It'd become routine for him – _so European_, he'd remarked to himself – that he didn't even realize he was doing it until now.

The second effort he made to stop himself was to substitute it. When he itched to pour himself a glass of vodka, he stuck a piece of gum in his mouth. When he was tempted to stop at a bar and order a cocktail of sorts, he reminded himself of a different task to attend to. Anything to keep his mind away from this new demon. Who knew he'd buried himself in this deep? Sharpay wanted him to see a shrink, but he was dead set on handling this on his own. Seeing a professional would convict him to the title of addict. And he wasn't addicted. He was just breaking a habit. And that only took a month to complete, according to experts.

So for the rest of his thirty days, he would stay active. Return to his yoga sessions and workouts at the gym, continue to dance (maybe tryout for a bigger role in the next production), and indulge in his social life. His parents invited Sharpay and him to several gatherings where corporate CEOs conversed. It was intended to be a social event, but Ryan decided to RSVP yes in order to gain a few more contacts. The more people he knew in the elite class of the rich, the better. It would probably serve him well sometime in the future (the Arts were a business after all), as well as leave an impression as Vance Evans' offspring.

On outings such as that, he tried hard not to think of Blake. He missed their carefree friendship, especially since it had made him feel like himself again. Like he had nothing to worry about. But he couldn't waste time dwelling on it anymore, he'd made his decision and he'd stand by it. And Blake respected him enough not to go against that. It wouldn't be fair to Troy or Blake or even himself if he continued down that path. For burning a bridge was sometimes necessary to maintain a better one.

By the time the first heat wave hit the city that never slept, Ryan had bounced back completely. He'd been dry for nearly two months and could even muster exchanging casualties with Blake without feeling incredibly awkward or heartbroken. He was back on the rails and, he admitted to himself quietly so the fates wouldn't jinx him, he was finally accommodating to life without Troy. He'd broken through his barrier of depression and was back on his feet once again. What had Troy told him? He crashed hard but managed to get up again or something like that? He wasn't sure. All he knew was that he was content in his lifestyle. It was almost like being single.

But of course, that was far from true. His relationship with Troy Bolton was as strong as ever, and that was saying a lot regarding the distance. Sure the whole past year was a giant wrecking ball for everything they built, but like him: they bounced back. And now Ryan was starting to think it would always be that way. Nothing could topple them; they were stronger. Either that, or he'd gained a bigger ego than before.

"So, I was thinking colors today," Ryan commented in between spoonfuls of yogurt as he talked amiably with his soldier. All the conversations they held now were in talks of their far-futured wedding (which felt slightly ridiculous to do, but it kept their dialogue bright and light-hearted). Ryan wanted every detail discussed and sketched out, and therefore he was constantly recording things on pads of paper, sticky notes all around his laptop's frame. The man was meticulous, and he would write down everything – even the type of china used for each guest's plate. Troy decided that if Ryan ever became bored of acting, becoming a wedding planner would definitely be his next career. Personally, Troy didn't care for any of the details. The legal document and a secret getaway would be fine with him, but if Ryan truly insisted throwing all this money around to instill and perfect every tradition his eyes ever laid sight on, it was useless to reject.

"Colors?" He repeated.

Ryan nodded. "I was thinking of having everything maintain a theme, you know. But with colors. So that the same color we use for our ties is the same one we use for the girls' dresses that is the same one we use for the ribbons on their small party favors, etc., etc. Perhaps even the color of balloons…hmmm…I'd have to think about that – balloons are kind of cliché and obtrusive." He batted his pencil against his chin in mental debate. He then scribbled down on his pad of paper: _Inconspicuous balloons_.

"So are we just going to have one color or two or what?" Troy asked. Ryan sighed.

"I don't know," he replied. "I was thinking about that too. Obviously white and black have to be put in the mix, although they don't have to be the highlight. But I was thinking maybe we could do a blue…" He peered into Troy's eyes – a bit distorted in his pixilated form, knowing that it would be that exact shade. A soft baby blue that somehow became hypnotic. He wrote it down.

"Yeah, that sounds good," his partner agreed. "Maybe we could add a green in there too. I was thinking of a lime green, but with blue I almost think a pastel green would work better." Ryan chuckled to himself. Troy, being particular with colors? It almost seemed unfitting.

"You're so gay sometimes," he commented before he could think twice and added green on his list. He was content with their choices until he realized the absolute wrongness of it. He let his head hit the desk, grunting in disapproval. "We can't do Easter colors for a _fall_ wedding!" He shook his head, disappointed that he didn't think of it sooner. Fall had warmer colors to it: oranges and reds and even a few browns, but definitely not blue. Or green for that matter. And absolutely no pastel!

"A fall wedding," Troy reiterated. "Ry, we can't have it in the fall."

"Why not? I thought that's what we agreed on."

"I never agreed to that," he said pointedly. "Fall is too trite. Same with spring. They're done way too often. Besides, I always thought we'd have it in the winter. I like the snow. Sort of miss it actually." Afghanistan was a dry and barren place, seemingly absent of the seasons. Albuquerque had been the same way: moderate temperatures in the winter and hot blazing sun in the summer. No snow. It wasn't until he moved to New York that he truly got to witness the changes in the seasons, watching as the dead and dry ends of fall got turned into a winter wonderland. Ski trips to Colorado dulled compared to witnessing such a transition, and he'd found that he loved everything about that change.

"Winter's not pretty here," Ryan insisted. "It all turns yellow and gray in a matter of hours. Destined to become mush. Why would we _want_ that?"

Troy shrugged. "It's when I fell in love with you."

The blonde's cheeks tinged pink. Just when he was certain Troy was tossing random ideas into the air, his boyfriend had to prove that he, yet again, was one of the most romantic people Ryan ever knew. Most times, his response to gestures like that were that of a high school girl – the collective 'Aww'. And then there were other times that he was just short of shouting 'Cheezy! What movie did you get _that_ from?' However, he found himself too short of breath to do either. Even when his brain was registered to perform the first one.

"Winter," he repeated, pulling a few sticky notes off his laptop and examining them yet again. They could still use most of what they'd already brainstormed. Plus, it didn't affect anything – it wasn't like they'd actually set any of it up. They were just plans. Plans that Ryan was always halfway convinced were never going to happen. His heart sunk into the pit of his stomach, nearly causing bile to rise to his throat. What were they doing? Planning for a wedding that would probably never happen. Even if Troy did come home…things could change. He crumpled one of the yellow Post-Its in his hand and let it drop. He met Troy's curious gaze. "What are we doing?"

He asked it so ingenuously that Troy couldn't exactly place what he was talking about. Was it his seasonal choice? Was it the very notion of getting married? Their relationship? A thousand different thoughts rushed to answer his boyfriend's question…_Well Ry, if you don't want it in the winter, autumn would be fine…we can wait a few years if you want – I can be patient!…What's wrong? You can talk to me about it_. But he found himself unable to voice any of them. The blonde sighed as he recollected himself to explain.

"It's just – aren't we a bit over our heads here?" He questioned. "I mean, planning this has been fun and everything but…when's it ever going to _actually_ happen? I just…I feel like we're pretending everything's okay when it's not."

"You're so negative about everything," he chastised. "Ever since I got drafted into this stupid war, I swear. Who says we won't get to walk down the aisle, hmm?"

"I just don't understand how you got me into this," he reasoned. "It's wishful thinking."

"You're wrong," he'd barely allowed Ryan to finish his last word before he confidently countered him. The dancer just stared at him, trying to read the look on his face and decipher how he could be so assured. However, Troy didn't reveal anything. A few years worth of practice finally taught him how to keep his expression neutral without Ryan decoding him. But he knew it wouldn't be long before he caught up. As soon as there was a crinkle in his brow, Troy finally released a small smile. "I'm coming home."

The way Ryan's eyes widened and even the way his mouth shaped a small 'o' in absolute shock made Troy release the grin he'd been suppressing the entire conversation. He looked at him expectantly, awaiting a reaction, but it seemed he caught him speechless. He attempted to hide his smile again, trying to act like the news was nothing when it obviously wasn't. But he failed at that too. "Well, aren't you going to say something?"

"Oh my God!" He exclaimed, running a hand through his hair and pulling at the short strands. It was still early enough in the morning that he hadn't picked out a hat yet. "Oh my God! I can't…this is great!" He laughed, slightly in disbelief. "When will you be back?"

"I actually got my discharge papers about a month ago," Troy began to explain.

"A month?" Ryan repeated. "And you choose to tell me this _now_?"

"I wanted to make it a surprise," he continued. "But I couldn't keep it from you anymore. I had to tell you!" Ryan covered his mouth with his hand, absolutely ecstatic. He even bounced a little.

"Well, tell me when you're going to be here already!" He pushed.

"My plane leaves in five hours," came the reply, his face almost hurting by the wide smile that hadn't left his face. "Technically, I'll be home tonight, but there's a ceremony or something to welcome us home tomorrow." Ryan nodded, aware of the ritual. But he was excited nonetheless. He couldn't wait. Tomorrow, he'd be able to run up and kiss the man he hadn't touched in nearly a year. He'd finally be able to hold a conversation with him and not worry about having to log off soon. He'd get to sleep in Troy's arms that night. How had he ever convinced himself that he'd be comfortable in a life without him? He could never live like that.

"I'll be there," he promised.

* * *

><p>Dreaming was such a weird thing. For most of it, the dreamer was almost in an intoxicated state, only witnessing the actions that were happening without really comprehending it. They couldn't even control their own actions, too numbed in the brain to do anything besides watch it play out. That is, until their consciousness starts peaking through and they start thinking of how to handle the situation and what to do next and more often times than not, the eyes flick open into the real world mid-climax of the dream. Cognitive thought always got in the way of the mind-movie, but by the time the person notices, it's too late.<p>

For the moment though, Ryan was caught in an earlier part of the dream. There was no thought process, his mind only allowing him to watch as he kissed Troy's cheek. The athlete held him close to his body, looking more comforted by the embrace than by the small peck left on his skin. They were both content, elated at seeing each other.

Most people don't remember happy dreams though. Only confusing or horrible ones stay fresh in the mind.

Which was why the dream Ryan suddenly pulled back. Something wasn't right, and the coherent thoughts began to stir awake. The guilt he'd kept bottled up about Blake was suddenly running rampant again, and he was scared about Troy finding out. Then there was a knock on the door, and Ryan _knew_ Blake would be standing on the other side. He protested as Troy thought to move, keeping him pinned to the bed.

"Well, what's wrong Ry, what's wrong?" He asked so innocently. But he couldn't…he could never tell him. "Calm down."

"It's nothing," he assured him. "Just stay here." And he was curled up against his chest again. He was soothed for a little bit, the soft thoughts that were beginning to voice themselves fading into nothingness. Troy's warmth coaxed him towards sleep again.

But Blake was still nagging at him a little bit. Knowing he was there. At the door.

Sensing his distress, Troy whispered softly, "You okay?"

"It's…no…something's…something's wrong," he fumbled blindly for words. And then Troy gave him that blinding smile he loved so much, and it made him feel sick.

"It's okay, Ryan," he tried comforting him. "I will always love you."

It wasn't enough though. The thoughts were stirring, wondering how he could avoid confronting the truth. Wondering what he would say if the two faced each other. He had to stop it…but how?

"Ry, stop," Troy tried silencing. "Just go to sleep." His face was a little alarmed as Ryan moved himself away from him, trying to sort out the thoughts. Trying to make sure Blake didn't open the door. It was coming though, and Troy reached for him, "No, don't wake up!"

It was too late. Ryan was sitting up in bed, his sheets sticking to him from the layer of sweat he produced while his breathing came out in gasps. It had been a while since he'd dreamed of Troy. And adding Blake in the mix made everything that felt so right feel so wrong. Damn it. The images were so clear in his head, and he knew what he'd have to do. No matter how much he wanted to keep that situation to himself, there was only one solution: he had to tell Troy.


End file.
